


Guelder: Of Winter and Roses

by riem



Series: Rolfe's Arc [2]
Category: 07-Ghost
Genre: Deep thoughts - Freeform, Flower Language, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riem/pseuds/riem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Forsaken Qualms. Read it first but can be read as a one stand fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will be changing the summary for each posted chapters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is a struggle, it is a pain. But at the end of it, it will be alright.” He honestly did not believe that. Because he believes in reasons, because there is always a reason. Every cloud, every time it stops raining, has a silver lining – and so they say. Or was it just him trying a new hand at comfort? “We will find a way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be changing the summary for each posted chapters

 

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

 There he stood; he stood there at the door, taking in the surroundings of the rather spacious room. A sigh escaped thin lips at the sight revealed ahead. He entered, the door closing behind him. He neared the two figures in the centre of the room and made his way.

Of tall and lanky, slightly malnourished, one figure was seated on a single chair. Placed near the rounded windowpane its setting painted a picture, a story, than ever conveying the poignant reality. _Forlorn._ Yet that little display tales hope. A hope that one day life, precious life, would return. Return and fill those dark orbs with familiar deep blue similar to that of bright skies of springtime.

Long blankets were laid over the soulless man’s lap. It pooled onto the pristine floor like velvety curtains, but it gave warmth, and as much warmth it gave, needed. Lay on top of the man’s lap was a small figure outlining the uneven surface. Wrapped in an extra set with the face hidden underneath, only black and golden trimmings peeked slightly. Pink hair sticking out was a great contrast however to the faded brown of the blankets.

Toshiro did not stop. Only did two to three longs strides forward he finally addressed. “Kuroyuri-sama,” Toshiro called. Sympathy mixing in his voice he barely caught was remedied with a touch of firmness. He said then, “You are needed, sir.”

Alas the commander, Kuroyuri-sama, did not answer. Instead the child snuggled closer. Clearly not intending to leave the warmth of his beloved. Toshiro expected no less from deliberate self-pity. Perhaps it was out of spite. _He is not impressed with the attitude._

“We will shortly be breaching the border of Antwort airspace in two hours time.”

Again, there was no response from the other. Toshiro did not let on. Both stubborn individuals in the room know too well Kuroyuri was not asleep. If the ever the slight shift of shoulder blades was anything to go by.

“Ayanami-sama is about to devise the battle tactics,” Toshiro informed for the third time. “Konatsu-san and Major Hyuuga have already gathered at Navigation. It would not start without everyone, _you_ , present.”

There was movement normally blind to the naked eye. It did not go unseen. Not to him at least.

Toshiro inwardly sighed at the lack of cooperation. He neared the small coffee table then, purposely taking no notice of the seemingly sleeping child. “Please stop making people around you worry,” Toshiro said, voicing the thoughts everyone was refusing to say. He let the silence settle despite feeling a menacing glare boring through layers of his back. With an unperturbed voice casually he continued.

“Comforting; the idea is not something that I am familiar of myself. Of that I am lacking thereof.” He paused. Toshiro considered his words. Words that would spite the other, words that would pull him from his self abandon.

“I am not Haruse-san,” Toshiro choose to bait. “A waste of time really, to be honest, this… _act of console_ , provided its blatant pointlessness.” He cleared some space for room upon the round table, setting the untouched biscuits aside. “But I do know hard times.” He stared downcast. “How hard life throws at you in the face…”

For a moment, he allows himself pensive. For a moment, half lidded eyes gazed at nothing in particular but beyond.

A flash of distraught faces in despair and misery, those anguished souls, invaded the calm seas of his shore. In the form of a raging storm they came. Swelling the smooth contours it breaches through inland like a tidal wave, washing and eroding everything else into nothingness until it darkens the world around black. Until there is neither a glint nor an ounce of hope. For there is no salvation. No escape. There is no light seen, no light shed at the end of this tunnel. This eternal tunnel of vacuity.

The bump of a flower vase gently kissing the table made short of the illusion.

Baby blues overtook soft greens as they follow the sways of snowdrops and pansies as the vase was placed atop. Toshiro stared at it, making use of the silence in pretence of ignorance to misinterpret his pause over an answer from Kuroyuri. He turned to face the other – earlier train of thought was not lost on him.

“It is a struggle, it is a pain. But at the end of it… it will be alright.”

He honestly did not believe that. Because he believes in reasons, because there is always a reason. Every cloud, every time it stops raining, has a silver lining – and so they say. Or was it just him trying a new hand at comfort?

“I am certain Ayanami-sama plans on finding the means necessary that would help Haruse-san, anything to bring back his soul,” Toshiro solemnly stated. “I may be human and that I am weak, but I am no fool. I am a part of this too.”

Kuroyuri was glancing up at him by then, blanket barely leaving the lad’s shoulder. The look he gave was doubtful. Toshiro could tell the pink haired was assessing him, wanting to believe the assurance; unsure whether to trust the sincerity in his words. It was, in a sense, a start. At least it _is_ , he considered.

“We will find a way,” Toshiro continues, cajoling the child warsfeil. “For now, attend the briefing, Kuroyuri-sama. Let us not make the others wait.”

For a moment, it looks as though his effort was all in vain. Crumbles all for nothing. For Kuroyuri closed his good eye and went back to ignoring him. _Back to square one._ A petulant child – that is what the commander is as a whole. One that does not listen to reasons alone, one that lashes out at others, one that does not understand the implications they done.

Ah, the beauty of naïve youth.

Kuroyuri was not opening up to him. No need for a psychiatrist to point it out. Being the one who committed the past atrocity, it was understandable. Toshiro expected no less from a vengeful seeking juvenile that happens to have an addiction towards snacks and a love of eating. This further reinforces his initial inkling. Though, at the moment, the passion lost its fervour. That is probably why he should weight up his options.

Considering a recompensing gift for the moody child might be adequate as an apology. He thought of chocolate, chocolate chip cookies to be exact, that Kuroyuri would come to appreciate. Perhaps throw in some caramelised syrup, as he would have it. Would that improve their bond? Or would it end up otherwise?

His deliberation broke as soon as he saw movement. Kuroyuri uncurl himself and look up at Haruse.

It had only been a few days, but the damage had been done. The teenager felt a stab in his heart. He watched Kuroyuri mutter words of promise, the soft murmur of “I’ll be back”, before reluctantly climbing down from the man’s lap. Kuroyuri stood tall, chest huffed forward trying to make himself seem big and strong. He headed towards the door. Not once did he spare a look at the blond subordinate.

Toshiro trailed his eyes after Kuroyuri until he left the room. He settled on to look at Haruse. A silent gratitude was passed, somehow. Whether from the unmoving man or the wounded child, Toshiro did not know. The barest tug of lips pulled at Toshiro into giving a small smile. Perhaps he should put a little faith. If not in miracles, in this so called work of “God”, then on the Black Hawks. _In_ _Ayanami-sama._

Wordlessly, Toshiro followed after his unofficial charge.

* * *

Not one word, not even a squeak or a cough, was exchanged between the two. The sounds of their faint breathing and the marching of boots only served as background. It was probably for the best.

With Kuroyuri leading the way, he and Toshiro headed towards the navigation room. They were about to enter, the door automatically slides open, when someone sharply rushed in. Fast enough so a tall person could get inside before the petite lieutenant colonel.

Toshiro could tell, despite the lack of showing it, that Kuroyuri is aggravated. Whoever it was, that person is offhandedly rude. Likely to have no respect for others and often think of themselves superior. Although the awed sounds emanating from inside indicated them more as somewhat… childish, in nature. High pitched and easily excited judging from the tone of voice. Only did Toshiro belatedly realized, one that he was not too keen to hear so soon, it was Shuri.

He regretted ever stepping into this disaster.

The young Oak gushed with animated eyes and a full grin plastered when they entered the scene. Like a giddy child Shuri’s darting eyes looked around at the wonder that is Ribidzile. It was supposed to be the military’s prided ship. And here was a spoiled brat, loudly comparing and complaining the first class aircraft being smaller than his _Papa’s ship._

“It’s suitable~”

Bright shiny lights with twinkling stars practically sparkle behind him at the statement, ignorant of the overhanging mouths of disbelief and annoyance from those on board.

Toshiro followed after Kuroyuri and stood with the other Hawks. The blond cadet chanced a glance at Ayanami by the corner of his eye. Hidden behind a scroll of drawn maps and geographical locations of the enemy’s terrain, the silver haired man’s face was a puzzle to many mysteries. Apathetic expression focused upon thin paper. He could have sworn a twitch on that otherwise calm face.

“Speaking so frankly in front of Ayanami-sama…!” He heard Konatsu gasped, engaging with his superior, as they claim their position at the chief’s side. “Certainly a rare and endangered species, Lt. Commander!”

“Already on the verge of extinction, Konatsu!” Hyuuga replied in agreement.

Suddenly Shuri twirl at full attention. With a salute and a dazzling smile, he introduces himself. “From today onward, I shall be Ayanami-sama’s Begleiter. I am Shuri Oak!!” However so, the Oak’s fervent mood drastically fell when bright blues met familiar teals.

Whilst others were struck permanently with astonishment, unaware of the silent exchange, Toshiro was indifferent.  That was when Hyuuga – unintended or not, Toshiro was inclined to believe the former – saved the beginnings of an awkward tension between them.

“Since when were you a begleiter?” questions Hyuuga, head curiously tilted to one side. No different as the other two Black Hawks. It was a fact unknown to them. Even to the well-informed chief himself. Judging from the lack of acknowledgement. “The position’s already been taken.”

Shuri recovered exponentially. _Good old pompous Oak._ “What do you mean? Because papa said to be Ayanami-sama’s begleiter, of course!”

Whereas the Black Hawks were left to absorb the information, react upon it on their own way, Toshiro stares at Shuri. Turns out those two sycophants were not jesting when they said Shuri is to be the chief of staff’s begleiter. Be that as it may, the idiot chose this inconvenient time of conflict to make his proclamation?

As far as Toshiro could tell the chief currently has no begleiter the whole while he joined the crew. Perhaps Hyuuga meant to say it to be considerate…?

Ayanami was silent. He had not said a word regarding the unexpected whirlwind of trouble knocking at their door. Toshiro wondered if the man is in a state of shock. It was highly unlikely; Warsfeil are incapable of it. Of course, showing weakness equates to the lack of self-restraint. But that would make him human. It meant nothing however in these circumstances. In fact, it was unnecessary.

Lowering the scroll in exchange of reading documented reports did Ayanami finally take a good look at his _supposed_ ‘Begleiter.’ It did not take him long, only a quick glimpse as apathetic purples returned to scan the remaining papers. Not even a nanosecond was spared.

_“Who_ is the one who brought _garbage_ on board _?”_

All eyes turned to look at the Chief of Staff. It does not need the least unintelligent of individuals on the airship to find out that the fearful man is irked. Demandingly irked.

With just one glance Ayanami could tell Shuri Oak is but a nuisance. The ignorant fool was oblivious of the challenges they are about to face. He doubted the boy would make himself useful. He would not last long, especially if left alone without someone reliable to take care of him.

“Garbage?” echoed Shuri meant to please, none the wiser. “Where is the garbage?!” He looked around demanding for the non-existent culprit to come to light. Little did the Oak know it was he. “Who is it? Who brought garbage on board?!”

Toshiro felt like he should just curl up into a barrel and be thrown off board from Ribidzile. As long as he was wiped out of existence from the Black Hawks’ mere presence than afford to give them face.

_One way or another._

Yet, at the same time, he felt that, as both a friend and a dignified young man, he should stop Shuri from embarrassing himself further. It was a pathetic sight to behold. It was unbearable. The Oak was making a bigger fool he could possibly be out of himself than simply being the greatest idiot son of Wakaba Oak. He was making a damn scene.

However, the threat that is the silver haired man’s wrath has yet to be answered. It held the promise of pain.

Though the quandary Toshiro was in seemed trivial in contrast the moment Hyuuga raises his hand. For the man took a thorough beating. Konatsu and Kuroyuri looked away, leaving Toshiro to witness the act of violence. One that startlingly involves a coiled whip out of nowhere.

“How long until we arrive at Antwort?” A sharp crack in the air followed after the inquiry – _the demand_ – unmindful of the floored subordinate.

The chief was answered with a terrified “L-less than an hour, sir!” from one of the petrified crew members. What fate befalls Hyuuga was forced to ignore despite his whines and the unpleasant sounds of grating. If you want to avoid the same punishment, then it would be wise to stop staring. And yet, Toshiro, albeit the danger he deliberately puts himself at risk, stared at the two men in disbelief and apprehension.

To think that Ayanami-sama… To discover that the leader of the Black Hawks whips – _actually whips_ – his subordinates…! Is that not considered an abuse in power?

Looking at it though the major was rightfully at fault. In hindsight. Having brought Shuri aboard, failing to inform his being here beforehand… The carefree man should have declined the admiral’s request. He was helpless in this it seems.

At least, Toshiro considers the bright side of it, Hyuuga is the one at the end of that wire. That unforgiving, cruel and cool coiled wire. He was doing them a big favour.

Toshiro inadvertently met eyes with Ayanami. A touch of something dark – laced with impatience, fury perhaps; or is it a mixture of both? He is unsure – was strange in those deep calculating eyes. Different than the glint the man had once upon a time. Different than the eerie flash of red at the rims of those violet irises. It caught the other’s attention.  Against his better judgment, Toshiro shivered under the duress. Quickly he looked away.

Shuri interrupted. To which Toshiro was thankful for. “Say, say. What is _Ant-vort_?”

The Oak blinked repeatedly, turning to both Konatsu and Kuroyuri. He seemed unperturbed. Rather, Toshiro muses, he was too naïve to even be perturbed.

Pleasantly courteous without meaning to, although his annoyance was outrightly apparent, Konatsu answered Shuri. “Antwort is the last allied nation of the former Raggs Kingdom,” he said. “A snow and ice-covered, strongly fortified country.”

* * *

Conflict, a lack of better word, between the leading forces of Barsburg and the last allied nation of the former Raggs Kingdom continued to persist for many years now.  Sparked by the fear, their failure to retrieve the stone most of all, and the possibility that the lost Eye of Mikhail had been taken to its neighbouring ally, the empire waged war against Antwort.

Forces of Antwort had held on its own successfully throughout the large-scale conquest; mere fancy wording for forced invasion really.

Thousand soldiers sent and tenfold the casualty came back. Neither side would admit defeat; no winner from either side would come out victorious. Chances of them thwarting one another were unwarranted. They but continue to defend. Attack and defend again. Pushing forward yet pushed back untoward nothing. It was a never ending war.

But all that ends today.

Smooth sailing, Antwort’s mountainous terrain finally came into view. A winter garden – that is what the land of Antwort truly is. Neither was it meant a praise nor reverence. For not once did those flakes of crystallized ice ever stop showering, ad infinitum spewed from the vast sky like drizzling rain. The earth’s soil practically blanketed with that equally pristine, cold essence. Colour of true soil may well be forgotten, lost to a greater extent. And eventually cease to exist.

Toshiro watched frantic crews busying their selves in preparation for battle at the sidelines. The blond had no clue on what there is to do, what is needed from him, what role he is supposed to undertake in this ship. Instead, he had made himself appear useless. He turned his gaze away and looked outside. It cost him unwanted attention.  Toshiro could feel the weight of it.

Oh and what great luck it is.

Bright blue eyes, large and hopeful, seek his own mixture of blue. None too patiently. Hesitant at first, braver the second. Shuri Oak is trying to draw out the strength through his bruised ego to face his friend.

While entertaining, Toshiro but limited to no more than let their gaze met. It seemed to upset Shuri when the Oak was paid no further heed. Shuri gave an almost petulant look of outrage. Toshiro noticed, of course. He intended it. The pale blond left the delicate company of the Black Hawks with a bristled Shuri following behind willingly.

“ _Toshiro_ ,” Shuri Oak began once they were afar, tone rather demanding. No need for niceties between them two it seems. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Toshiro opts to stare at the open space to save the trouble, this petty confrontation Shuri led them into. And so Toshiro lets him ranted on as he pleases, catching small titbits of scepticism of his being here. Hard to believe a mere foot soldier joined the ranks of the Black Hawks. Again, Shuri was being unreasonable. It was an insult.

Through the sturdy glass wall between him and the outside world, Toshiro could feel the harsh wind currents slamming onto the clear windows. It snubbed the other’s tirade. He focused on hearing the soft banging then, the ever slightly, next to none existent quiver. Or perhaps it was his body unconsciously swaying. His concentration broke the moment Ribidzile shook at the brunt of some burst.

Apparently the Black Hawks went over the tactic rather quick.

There was a blinding light with streaks of black and red beyond glassed walls. It died down and smoke rose up from below. What was prided as the strongest shield in Barsburg – a large, anti-battleship shield that encloses the entire country of Antwort; said to be able to withstand the fire power of a fleet of thirty Ribidzile ships – was easily dismantled in an instant. It left their forces vulnerable to open fire. In panic they fired their canons.

“Careful,” was the little warning Toshiro managed out before a shaken Shuri clumsily loses his footing. With unceremonious grace he tumbles on the floor, ass high in the air.

The pale blond raised an eyebrow. He refrains himself from sighing in indignation. Shuri should have known better really: The ships were surrounded by a zaiphon shield. It was hardly damaging. For the attack, needless to say, did not go through.

“You’re in perfect form today, Aya-tan!”

Said man remains quiet as the area mapped onto the luminous grid set into the floor dimmed. Without waiting for it to fade until it was left blank, he stepped away from the screen. Ayanami turned to the two lowers then.

“You. You said you’re Shuri?” the chief said, piercing eyes looking down at a half-dazed Oak. It held onto teals for but a brief flash, betraying none, as he said; “It’s appropriate for my begleiter to act on the front line.”

It took a moment for Shuri, _and Toshiro,_ to register the assertion.

Suddenly, with an incoherent reply and a small squeak close to a whimper, Shuri was uplifted from the cool tiles. Apparently someone had slid open the door. Within seconds they were exposed to the biting cold air. The sharp hiss made thin hairs rise.

From where he stood Toshiro could hear his Oak friend struggling to free himself. Hanging precariously by one man, it was not the best of idea to wiggle free. Even if it means he was going to fall either way. Hyuuga then, full of himself in his upbeat, releases his hold onto Shuri’s collar. He was dropped – _thrown,_ so to speak– overboard. Hyuuga was thoughtful enough to throw in a winter jacket along with the falling ‘begleiter’. His screams were muffled.

Toshiro counted for two heartbeats before finally voicing out, “Was that necessary?”

Hyuuga is a simple man. A simple but an unpredictable man, Toshiro amended. Borderline erratic in all probability. It would be foolish not to be wary of this seemingly harmless shades wearer. Frankly, if he were to be manhandled, Toshiro would prefer hopping down willingly like a damn rabbit into the waiting mouths of enemy sharks than caught unprepared in the rush of adrenaline-

And then he saw it.

That confused look, that tilt of the head; that clueless blink…

Toshiro had forgotten one vital thing. One that should made him start second guessing. One that should made him tremble like a bloody baby. One that should scared anyone, running away with their tails between their legs, off witlessly.

Warsfeil could not – _and never would_ – understand the consequences the fall, to which they could survive perfectly unscathed, had upon a mortal, untrained human. They might not even take it into consideration.

…At least, not with Hyuuga anyway.

“Well. Someone has to,” was said as though it makes sense. As though it _is_ common sense. “It’s easier that way. Oh, and quick!” He grins. “Don’t worry,” the man then said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, I bet. Won’t it?”

Toshiro followed Hyuuga’s gaze. It landed on Konatsu. And the begleiter, as his eyes revealed to him, was frowning. Looks like he is not too happy about it.

“Why do you have to put us in trouble?!” Konatsu was close to exasperation in his ire. He forced himself to exhibit self-control. Toshiro has to commend his perseverance.

“Fine.” A tired sigh escape Konatsu. “Either I’m doing this or it’ll be both our heads.”

“Good luck out there Konatsu!” cried a waving Hyuuga as his begleiter strode onwards the merciless current. And Konatsu, not bothering to even acknowledge it, leaps from Ribidzile into the open.

Toshiro blinked once, then twice. He stared where Konatsu had once stood seconds ago. Unbelievable, his brain supplied. Are the people here mad? The least they could do was bring a parachute along. Thickly snow covered surface is not always soft than what is often depicted. It did not matter, apparently.

“You’re going too?”

Toshiro glanced down and saw Kuroyuri. The commander, silent as a mouse, was standing beside him. Their gaze held still. _‘Well,’_ he found himself reviewing on their current situation, ‘ _this is a surprise_.’ The action was clearly not the kind of behavior anticipated by particularly the commander. Not necessarily unwelcome either.

Curiosity stirred within than the alarm ringing in the taller boy’s head. Is Kuroyuri-sama beginning to accept him?

Toshiro searches for the fault in the other’s intention – there was a catch to it, there must be! – but, alas, found none. The lad was trying too hard at this, Toshiro realized. Perhaps he is missing the bigger picture here. Because that innocent curiosity, no matter how trifling, how trivial and how insignificant it is, was a sign of vulnerability.

_‘Oh, Kuroyuri-sama. You are such a child indeed.’_

The snow was beginning to fall harder, the flakes glittering in the sparse sunlight. With the wind picking up speed, the temperature had nearly fallen below zero degrees. It would be nice, almost pleasant, to feel the cold seeping through wonted skin and bones one more time. Like the old days, like he used to. Perhaps. It had been forever.

“…I suppose,” Toshiro meekly answered. It is, after all, a simple enquiry. “I do not trust Shuri-kun to be alone by himself quite yet.”

He made the first move following after Shuri and Konatsu to their share of action. Before he could even take a step forward, before the air could properly leave his lungs, Toshiro was pulled back at the collar. Taken by surprise he is. The tug slightly chokes him but not as much as to made him slip and fall. The blond glared at the person behind the jolt. Toshiro openly scowls when he saw Hyuuga.

“Now, now don’t be hasty!” Toshiro wished he could wipe off the grin on that blasted man’s face. “Konatsu’s more than capable in watching over your little friend. Besides,” Hyuuga lets go of Toshiro then, “someone has to keep an eye out for our dear Kuro-tan here!”

The man should not have said that.

Kuroyuri narrowed his only eye dangerously. Both at the ridiculous calling and the portrayal of some weak child. He sure as hell isn’t someone’s damn possession. “ _What_ did you _say_?” he challenges. “Say it again, I _dare_ you. _Say it again_.”

Hyuuga was unperturbed. “Aww… Don’t be like that Kuro-tan~ Shiro-chan here’s gonna take good care of you!”

Suddenly Toshiro, often got dragged and pulled in the middle of it all, found the spotlight shine itself upon him.

The blond stood there, dumbly and numbly. He alternated between Kuroyuri and Hyuuga. They were staring in attention, Toshiro could basically see the tension bleeding out from their gazes, albeit their differences. Unsaid pressure reigned heavily over him.

“I do not mind.” It is as honest a confession as Toshiro would be willing to admit. _Trust and respect is what we do this for_. “If Kuroyuri-sama so wishes. I do not wish to impose. If I ever do become a burden to the commander, I have no excuse but to blame my incompetence.”

That earned him a pleased grin from Hyuuga. Kuroyuri however went agape. It eases for no more than a fleeting second before forming into a straight line, thin-lipped.

“And there you have it!” asserts Hyuuga, quite smug. “You heard the boy, Kuro-tan. Play nice.”

He nudges Kuroyuri encouragingly as a brother would to his younger towards Toshiro. The major was rewarded with a kick at the shinbones, despite the simple gesture, and a pinch of insult to his questionable intellect for a grown man.

One officer working behind rows of terminals calls for everyone’s attention. “We are in close proximity with Antwort’s Royal Palace. Ayanami-sama!” He alternated between looking at the screen and facing their leader. “Target Plaza is on sight. Nearby enemy foot soldiers are scattered, readying weapons to attack. Should we engage?”

The chief was seated for the most part with closed eyes. Vivid amethysts were revealed when it did not. “Don’t bother. Proceed on,” Ayanami ordered with a cool grace. He sets his gaze onto his subordinates then. The verbal and physical lashing, if their actions were to be called that, terminated at once. While accusing eyes burns on Hyuuga, he said to Kuroyuri; “Take the boy with you.”

Kuroyuri opened his mouth to protest, but Ayanami’s tone left no room for discussion. He held it back, reluctantly nodding his affirmation; much to Hyuuga’s delight.

“Airspeed, stabilized; angle of descent, good – all clear! Crossing Antwort’s Royal palace’s threshold in sixty seconds…”

Aware of his surroundings Toshiro noticed that he was being stared at. Knew it was Kuroyuri’s doing, having experiencing it a number of times now. He caught him looking though the pinket did not avert eye contact. Toshiro wondered what Kuroyuri was thinking about; the commander had an unreadable expression on. He dares not pry.

The lower assent his consent one more time through a nod. “Let us make haste,” Toshiro said. “We have a war to win, after all.”

“Don’t push your luck, Toshiro,” the commander tried a condescending tone, warning. But he fails to bite back the smile lighting up his face. And Toshiro would not have it any other way.

* * *

Ayanami’s eyes were on the latest reports he received when Hyuuga spoke.

“He’s a good boy. Don’t you think so, too?” He did not need to look up to see the other watching Kuroyuri and Toshiro (his subordinate’s growing interest on the blond was barely a hint of subtlety) until they were out of sight. “Hope he won’t be scarred for his first time. Now that’ll be a problem!”

The silver haired gave one critical look. Hyuuga paid not much mind. His lost for understanding naught he offer.

“There is no gain without pain,” Ayanami drawled as the papers were lowered. “If he cannot come to terms with our line of work,” he crossed one leg over another in a regal manner, “I don’t see any reason why we should let him stay. _Children_ are not meant for the battlefield.”

There was an intake of air. “Oh my… How very cold of you, Aya!”

But then Hyuuga chuckled, a light smile playing on thin lips after. His eyes held mischief. “We’ll just see. Won’t we?” He gave Ayanami a knowing look, to which the later did not return. Not that he was expecting him to. “Anyways, I’m going on ahead. Wait for me?”

* * *

And Hyuuga jumped off board before Ribidzile was successive in its landing.

One airship after another made each clear descend on land after the Black Hawks’ little stunt. Near four hundred Barsburg militias dismounts the ships with full force at Ayanami’s command, leaving only their pilots and technicians and medic teams stay put. Half of the platoons stormed the Plaza while the rest of the squadron breaks through the Royal Palace’s fort.

The chief rose from his throne and stepped outside unescorted. Most of the enemy guards were already taken care of, neutralized by his men. Even as we speak. They are too far gone in the deep to withdraw from attacking Antwort. Orders no longer compel him. He ripped the papers in his hand into small bits – really, whenever did he agreed on abiding by their rules – and let the wind do its work. Like colourless confetti. They amalgamate perfectly with snow.

His crossing was a short one.

Bodies, dead and bloodied; mutilated, disfigured, maimed, hacked – you name it – in the worst possible way. There were streams of blood, its warmth easily gone cold and dry. No empathy, no pity: He cared not an iota for fragile creatures. Their fault for being weak. Their mistake for getting involved. Pandora’s Box is the whole, the sole, reason they are here. Nothing will stand in his way. Towards that one thing he desires most.

Zaiphon ever encircling his hand Ayanami wrecked havoc and blew open many doors to smithereens in his wake. That is, until he finally found what he came for.

“As I thought, it’s here. Searching all of the allied nations thoroughly was worthwhile.”

Ayanami stepped into the chamber room. Under heavy weighted sturdy boots, broken glass and bits of concrete and splinters of wood were crushed mixing with the already turned rubbles. There was no doubt in his mind as the dust petered out. It cemented everything.

“I should have realized when you left the Raggs Alliance, King Antwort.”

He stood face to face with none other than the King of Antwort himself. Between surprised and antagonistic and fearful, pushed like a cornered rat; the man was, quite frankly, furious.

“You were the one who stole Pandora’s Box from the Kingdom of Raggs.” It was not a question. It was a statement. A testament – a revelation – to the truth that tends to be left omitted until it was way too late in the game.

“As you can see,” he came close, the other backing away only to ineffectually protect the black coffin-like box behind glass casing, “it took considerable skill to get here. Quite the hassle.”

“Y-you _Barsburg dog_ …!”

Ayanami was not impressed. To witness the old king has reduced to such pathetic state, resorting to a play of insults and spewing profanities towards the countryman and his country, was distasteful. What little respect Ayanami had for the king is slowly sinking.

“It’s not that I don’t understand your feelings,” the military man admitted. “The content of Pandora’s Box is the God-created Verloren. Who would refuse the opportunity to obtain the world’s knowledge?”

But King Antwort thought differently.

“You won’t open this box!” the Antwort King bite out vehemently. He was shaking with nothing but rage. Rage, rage and more rage. With anger comes rudeness, and with rudeness comes verbal offense. But he wasted his breath on nothing. Its receiving end was hardly affected at all. “To open it you need the Eye of Mikhail that which the Barsburg Empire has searched for ten years! To think a _low-born_ warsfeil like you could-”

Blood, bold red and crimson, splattered like explosion on canvas painted the bleak room with ephemeral life before it lost its bright afterglow. The man-king should have lived for a few seconds, possibly for a few spare minutes, if he had had watched his mouth. A slip of the tongue it may be, doubted it was anything but, but Ayanami was unforgiving.

With a flick of the wrist the showcase shattered, Pandora’s Box dropping with a thud. Verloren’s vessel stepped forward. After years of searching, at last he will regain his immortal body. The Eye of Mikhail in hand, Ayanami unbound Pandora’s Box only to discover a single rose laid inside; not the grand skeletons that which of the death god’s.

Ayanami’s face was vacant, void of emotion. Without a word he picked the flower. He should have been outraged, livid. But oddly, he was not so much as angry as he ought to. What was the word? At the tip of his tongue- ...Intrigued?

Ah, yes. He was… _intrigued._

Ayanami felt the remnants of old magic, an influence. An old seal of some kind was left behind from the rose. Ayanami uses his power on it decidedly then, and it reveals to him a form, hooded and skeletal, and a young boy not more than five years of age.

An uncharacteristic, maniacal smile stretches across the calm man’s face. _‘Interesting.’_

The rose was crushed in his grasp. It was a cheap trick, substandard illusion, as it reverts into its original form of fleeting smoke and mist. As is that Seven Ghost protecting the boy no doubt Teito Klein; that set of emeralds was a dead giveaway.

It was a challenge. A mighty good challenge it is. Just to spite him; just to provoke him. If those death gods are going to interfere, let them. There is no harm paying back the favour in full now, is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates depends. It will be slow at most, fast depends on the demands (or when I feel up to it)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re weird,” the child said. Kuroyuri took in the image of the other blinking at him dumbstruck, unsure whether to be amazed or affronted. Before Toshiro could decide which, the commander stood. “I like it.”

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Snow… Merciful snow, beautiful snow, understanding snow.

They fell like endless precipitation that it is. Never-ever-changing. Ever enveloping everything in its wake, to hide, to vanish and engulf everything into a world of white. Of pure, clinical, white.

Snow is many things. Rejecting its beauty is like rejecting the sweetest of vintage wines. For the profundity, its simplistic intricacy, cannot be compared by anything in this world.

And so, it continues. To pour and fall, to fall and pour again; to be adored, and to be welcomed.

Some does not share such impression, however.

Kuroyuri hugged his knees tight to his chest. He felt numb. Sensations of hot and cold had _nothing_ on him. All feelings left him when he lost him. It wasn’t completely gone. It was just… just wasn’t there, anymore. Leaving only a shell of an abandoned child, of emptiness and that ever dominant solitude. He lifted his head, staring nought ahead at the horizon.

_‘It’s cold without Haruse…’_

His mood dampens at the morose thought, the reality he cannot seem to grasp. Without Haruse – his anchor, his shield, his protector; his begleiter, his dearly beloved, _his Haruse_ – everything is dull. A world without Haruse is cold. Cold, grey and dull. A sigh left his lungs as a wisp of his young life slithers away. He should better be off dead than to continue on living like this…

“Kuroyuri-sama.”

Kuroyuri with bated breath, a hitch of breath, looks down when he heard his name being called only to have his anticipation blown by the wind.

Oh, how he wishes for Haruse to be here. For Haruse to call his name, for Haruse to worship him with his words alone. To hear his gentle voice and revel in his adoration knowing that the other cares for him. Not… Toshiro.  No. Kuroyuri was unenthused to see plain ol’ Toshiro. He missed Haruse so. He needed him, so painfully very much. As Haruse needed him so. 

But Kuroyuri knew better than to delude himself.

The blond lower was dusted with earthen soil, a tad of flake-patterned snow caught in his already pallid hair. His face has a weary look, drained and exhausted. Despite his bitter state Toshiro held himself quite well. Calm and in control – he was in his element, Kuroyuri absently supplied.

That revelation was supposed to unnerve him, screams suspicions. Instincts basically kicking in to bare teeth and claws. But having been proven wrong every single turn, Kuroyuri learn to look right through each accusation. That does not mean he should like it still. It settled not with him.

He watched Toshiro stood from his squatted position. “We should return to the ship,” the lower said as he stepped away from his work, muttering some words under his breath, perhaps a prayer or some foreign language, before returning his attention to Kuroyuri. “It would be best before you catch a cold if we linger-”

“Tell me, Toshiro.”

Kuroyuri cut him short. He centred all his attention at the other. Kuroyuri appreciated that Toshiro held his gaze with his although his eyes fought hard not to stray over the carnage they – _he_ – had left.

“Do you feel sorry for them?”

Toshiro inclined his head in response, looking up at Kuroyuri. Waiting for him to elaborate. As if testing him, judging him. The latter did not grant him the satisfaction. Adamantly so. Instead, directly, Kuroyuri spelled it out if not with grinded teeth;

“Do you think we’re monsters?”

The blond was visibly in discomfort regarding Kuroyuri’s choice of a small talk. There was the wide of the eyes, briefly, and then normalcy. That was it. It did not give him away any besides, uninterestingly so; his expression yields nothing more than staying neutral. But unfortunately, that was inconsequential.

Kuroyuri wanted to see, truly see, Toshiro behind that gutsy yet overly bearably polite, silver-tongued, narcissistic persona of a jerk. Kuroyuri wanted to trust Toshiro just as Haruse did in him. Wherein do their boundary lie, where does it start and where does it end. But to be able to, Kuroyuri knew he could not. For trust is intimate, personal.

Why trust a human, a race he finds little value in their very existence, and even bother to share that bond. The fact that his begleiter had choose to trust this human was beyond him.

Yet there is that multitude of possibilities that he could be… _different._ He may perhaps be, a novelty in more ways than one. That entirely depends on Toshiro’s say in this.

“Why do you say such?”

The commander warsfeil cocked an eyebrow at that. Almost resembling incredulity. _Almost._

“Because we are, aren’t we?”

Toshiro had the front row seat to witness everything. From their nature to the hate and to the inky darkness held within. It was obvious who they are, apparent what they are. For how long must he be blind and force himself to hold back. Surely not because of their standing.

“Can animals fight their instincts, sir?” caught Kuroyuri off guard. He blinked.

Toshiro continued.

“Do we call these feral creature monsters when they kill to ensure survival?” he questions. “What about us, as a person? Can we fight our innate nature? Can we fight our urges? I think not,” Toshiro took the other’s indicated silence to answer. “Regardless how strongly we resist or how fervently we try to deny it.”

Small lips thinned into a deep frown. Kuroyuri was not a fan to long, cryptic answers. It is lengthy as it is banal – mundane speeches that he would rather tune out than hear – and tests one’s patience. Kuroyuri has no patience for such boring story. But Toshiro answered with justifications. He would make an exception, only because he wants the blond’s honest opinion.

Kuroyuri listens on.

“A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures. An enemy is an enemy that, no matter how one would look upon it, must be disposed of. It is not a cruelty that one often views. It is a necessary evil.”

Toshiro’s voice was a drawl and bland, the words escaping him as though have been said time and time again. Empty and indifferent and void of emotions; and yet more than what is actually confer. Ardour, in a way.

“And this war,” Toshiro declaimed, “where blind obedience, unthinking stupidity, brutish callousness, wanton destruction, and irresponsible murder comes about. What makes it a difference if hundreds, if not, thousands, fall? Graves have already been dug, fates are sealed. The moment one enters a battlefield is where one lays its rest. By far, it is a mercy.”

There was an intake of breath, a suck of cold air. He _knows._ He knows what it’s like. He sees.

_He understands._

Fallen snow began to lessen. The wind though was no help to warm the decreasing temperature. Inch by creeping inch new layers builds and deepens without anyone to notice it, filling in the gaps and submerging the uneven ground to a raised height. By the time they left it would revert back to the way it was before. Unassuming and undisturbed. Untouched and unadulterated.

“I do not believe it erroneous by law,” Toshiro continued. “As soldiers, we follow our commandment. As you follow yours, sir, and I follow mine. ‘Monster’, on the other hand, while I digress to its characterization,” and his tone implies it true, “is a word people use for something they cannot understand.”

Kuroyuri gazed down at Toshiro oddly. He made a face bordering dubious. The latter simply offers a wry smile in return.

“People look upon an individual their actions, their intentions, and then make judgments supposedly based on the good and the bad of black and white, acceptable social norms, where it is, in fact, we, that should mattered in opinions.”

Toshiro gestured at himself, at his whole body, with one hand. “I do not understand my very self,” he professes. "Am I a monster? Must I understand so I would not become one? No.”

He said it straight, firm and candid. Kuroyuri would have believe it if it were not for his stubbornness. _Not yet._

“To understand one self, one must empathize with his or her surroundings and the people associated with it. …At least, that is what I believe.”

Gradual snow builds up. It covered the dead bodies of fallen enemy soldiers, made it into a hill of a sort. It disguised the makeshift burials which remains unnamed and unmarked. It was supposed to be a tragedy. _It is a tragedy._ Yet the prospect was not as ominous as it was before. It is– This is… _comical_.

Kuroyuri preens. Despite himself, Kuroyuri giggled. A soft one that resounds through the clement whiteout. It was merry, out of place and uncanny, considering the heavy air that reeks of death and rotting flesh. Yet the pinket grins, open and gleeful, down at Toshiro.

“You’re weird,” the child said. He took in the image of the other blinking at him dumbstruck, unsure whether to be amazed or affronted. Before Kuroyuri could let Toshiro decide which, the commander stood. “I like it.”

And then, without warning, Kuroyuri jumped a leap of faith.

A rather frantic Toshiro went alarmed in alert. He hesitated back and forth, left and right. Solving calculations and making estimations as rapid as he could. Before the imminent fall. He falters backward at the trust dive when Kuroyuri landed right into his arms. It was a near close call.

Like a purring cat, Kuroyuri clung to the warm body beneath him. The warsfeil did not seem to care for the implications he brought other than pleased at the fact that Toshiro caught him. _He caught him._ The teen already had him at expunging enemies.

The snow covered ground was mercilessly cold as it is sharply piercing. Though the wintry condition of Antwort was pleasant and tolerable, Toshiro thinks, as he lays his back on the snow, the cold that breaches his body heat sent slight shivers. What little warmth he had was escaping him. His situation did not let up either.

It was awkward, and inappropriate, and Toshiro felt uncomfortable with Kuroyuri-sama’s weight atop of him. Poor Toshiro further struggled with his predicament when he belatedly realized he was being hugged. And the older male froze.

How to push a needy child, desperate was so wrong in the right sense of the word, without meaning to offend?

Kuroyuri felt Toshiro tensed under him. He guessed the other was stunned speechless by his, he admitted, strange behaviour. Only when Toshiro heaves a sigh did he knew the other finally relaxed. If not a bit slightly. Kuroyuri did not want to scare him further. He fails to see this through on good terms. Grabbing a handful of his uniform Kuroyuri tugged Toshiro forward, straddling him.

“ _Don’t you even dare say a word about this.”_

Blossoming heat spread across Kuroyuri’s face. From anger or embarrassment, Kuroyuri didn’t know which. The other seemed to be oblivious to the fact however. Whether he should be grateful or disappointed was unclear. Kuroyuri certainly was annoyed when Toshiro scoffs, grunting “I would do nothing of the sort” at his otherwise petty threat. Though he tilted his head sideways, Toshiro sounded positively offended.

As the world kept spinning and the clouds drift along with it, they stayed as they were. A natural silence happened with neither party saying anything nor expecting in return.

Kuroyuri let go then. He stayed with knees settling on each side of Toshiro’s thighs, unmoving. He looked down on him with hands resting on his heaving abdomen. Kuroyuri contemplates an apology, clutches and unclenches the woolly fabric unconsciously during the process, should the other deserve it well.

“…You are cold.”

Toshiro’s voice broke through the silence. It would be an accusation if it were not for the concern laced in the lower’s voice.

“As I said before,” Toshiro continued, attempting to get up, “you will fall sick if we do not return to Ribidzile at once.”

He pushed the child off but ended up failing. Kuroyuri was none to make it easier at all, it seems. He surrenders to the soft snow on his back when the child did not let up one bit. The commander was _trying._ Oh and how Kuroyuri triumphed. A satisfied smile was revealed playing along indulgent lips.

“I would rather avoid such untoward situation before it is to become true.”

Kuroyuri made an effort to consider before finally deciding to dismount Toshiro. “Well…” he said, all while a cheeky grin stretch across his puerile face, “I _am_ cold.” The grin widens at the thought of an interesting notion, conspiring.

Hands clasped behind his back, Toshiro busying himself with the snow on his form, the commander said his name. Toshiro looked up.

“I want to ride you, Toshiro!” Kuroyuri innocently announces.

* * *

The famed church of Barsburg Empire in District Seven is known as a place of peace and protection, a sanctuary in layman’s term. Not a place of violence.

It was straight and plain simple. Respect the agreement, ye shalt not be punished nor shalt ye be unpardoned. Choose not to … Well. Let’s just say if you do not want to give or receive scandal, follow whatever custom of the church you attend.

They should have played by their rules.

One by one enemy spies fell, lured away for the best interest of the church’s holy image towards the public. Tarnishing it would be beyond repair. It was a bad mistake in their assessment, more than ever, to choose on attacking the church just when the yearly important Bishops Apprentice Examination is busily under way. They will not bow down to their aggressor.

Remember now, they forced their hands. And act the church will act in defending their rights.

A dull thump onto the grassy surface was heard as the last of pretending church members were neutralized. The illusion of a garden soon fades to reveal a brick, bleak surrounding of an underground area. No light had probably ever shined its brilliance before in this secret network.

Blood, whether freshly spilled or dried, splattered onto the floor like messy paint. The smell was still as heady. Labrador could taste it in the air.

“It’s unfortunate, isn’t it? For them to be the insiders.”

His gaze was fixed on the floor. Watching silently his flowers laps the glistening streams of red liquid spotless. A faint memory crept at him. It has been too long.   _Far too long_.

Labrador heard footsteps. The steps were purposeful, intent. _Harmless._ He did not turn; he did not look over his shoulder. He knows who it was, smelled him before he heard him. The person was armed, as ready as to strike quick, though poses no real threat to attack.

“They were good people,” Labrador said. He could feel the other relaxed at his voice.

“I know,” was answered gently, firmly. “But rules are rules. Mercy would only lead to fatal mistakes that should have been easily prevented from happening.”

Labrador removed his gaze to set it upon his friend. He smiled in greeting. Castor was never one to be lenient after all.

The russet haired bishop played with his pliant threads before retracting their deadly claws back inside his hand. He glanced over the damage, assessing their current situation. Castor shared a look with him, considering. “Will this take a while?” he eventually said.

Long vines wrapped itself around lifeless limbs and bodies. All tempting and rewarding. They waited for the gardener’s approval, to allow their contemplation to become true and devour the fleshy nutrients. All together eliminating the evidence a bloody nasty scene had ever taken place.

Labrador petted his large Venus fly trap at his side. “Not really.” The vines dragged the human remains closer to it as the carnivorous plant licked its eager lips.  Labrador was aware of his fellow clergyman’s discomfort. There was not much of a choice for another alternative. Besides, they were too excited.

“Let’s meet up with Frau and Teito-kun,” Labrador proposes.

They did not stay long to watch nature carry out its twisted course.

Regrouping with Teito and Frau had not taken long, the two arriving moments later after them. Lance shortly after. There was not much time to lose. Teito have to escape before the military got a whiff of him. The brunet was clearly aware of that too.

“There are a thousand turns here,” Labrador explained an awed Teito. “If you make even one wrong turn, you won’t be able to get out. So be careful. Today, I will create a guide for you.”

Labrador raised his gloved hand and gestured it forward. Flower petals surged as though they were breathed by a storm. They formed a seamless conduit.

“Follow their path until you reach the end of the tunnel. Do not be tempted to stray,” he warned. “You’ll know when you get there.”

Labrador wished master and apprentice luck when Teito suddenly said, “Wait, Labrador-san. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Labrador schooled a look of confusion upon his face. He had a grasp on what Teito intended to say, but the boy was not ready to hear it. It is not his place to divulge the truth, much less the others. He has to hear it from the young _Kind_ himself. Yet, the bishop found himself encouraging the brunet either way.

Unsure on how to broach the topic Teito started with a hesitant voice. “Before you- Toshiro- He…” Struggling with his words Teito forced himself to stop knowing full well he was not making sense. Gnawing his bottom lip, Teito wills himself to look up at the older man.

The others too focused their attention upon the petite bishop. Clearly there was something he knew that they did not. They would understand, Labrador knew, but he chose not to share. This is personal.

“Just spill it already. Brat.”

Castor smacked the quipping tall blond back to his place in Teito’s stead, to which the latter will forever be thankful.

Labrador nods for Teito to continue.

“When you said, it’s from him. When I got this… this trinket.” _The brooch._ “What do you- I mean. How do you… How do you know about Toshiro?”

Labrador watched the brunet for a moment. To lie is to sin, and to commit a sin will surely unpleased the Chief of Heaven. “I don’t,” he settled on saying then. Telling half the truth is not outrightly a lie per se. Labrador could tell his answer caused the brunet’s mind to whirl on questions that he should not be asked. “But there is one thing for certain.”

That seemed to stop whatever protest that came about to mind.

“From the time you came to the church, Teito-kun, there has been a deep darkness within your heart. In your eyes there is someone that holds in hand a two-edged sword – to bring about the divine protection, or to bring about destruction.”

In truth, what Labrador did was actually deliberate. By introducing the utmost importance he diverts away Teito’s needless concern regarding his friend.

“If you do not face the darkness,” Labrador prophesized, “you will let yourself fall into ruin and become the latter.”

His premonitions have always been accurate in every aspect, in every sense of the word. But for the first time ever, Labrador is unsure what lies ahead in wait for those two souls when their paths converge.

“In this short time haven’t you often crossed the Bridge of Tribulation? You have already decided to go on ahead, haven’t you?”

Teito looked down for a brief second mulling over the other’s words before facing forward. His eyes were filled with familiar determination that refuses to die out.

“I’m going to follow in the Father’s steps,” Teito decided solemnly, “and go to the ‘Land of Seele.’”

Labrador heaved an inward sigh at that, though unsettled despite knowing this forthcoming.

“Thank you for looking after me until now.” Teito bows his head in respect.

Bishop Lance approached Teito, the bowing brunet standing upright then. The ringlet fringed man leans down at the blinking boy and smiled. He handed Teito his Clergy Pass that reminded the boy of Father’s.

“A farewell gift, Teito Klein,” Lance explained. He gave him the proof, proof that marked him as a bishop’s apprentice. As Frau’s apprentice.

Before Teito could express his sincere gratitude, sounds of heavy footsteps was heard. It was heading towards their direction.

“It looks like pursuers are coming,” informs Castor. The string manipulator drew out his weaponized-strings as Lance and Labrador drew theirs. “Now go, please go on ahead. We will take care of them.”

With that the hawkzile revved on to life. Frau stepped on the gas and sped through the secret passage of a thousand turns with Teito holding onto him tight from behind. Flowery petals and greenery life vines guide their way ensures the three bishops as they watched them disappear with the wind.

* * *

In only five hours time, the Barsburg Imperial Army gained total control of all of Antwort. Ayanami was met with the entire force standing in salute at his arrival. Flags of Barsburg wafted by the wind stood erect with pride. Amongst them he did not see his wannabe begleiter awaits his return. Why is he not that surprised?

The chief continued to pass rows upon rows of soldiers, ignoring faces he cared not to recognize nor acknowledge in favour of returning to the warm vicinity that of which Ribidzile grants. Anywhere that would shield him from the frosty wind and ice flakes battering his already cold body.

However, as the fates would not have had it, such indulgence would have to wait.

“Aaaya-tan~” a (unbearably) familiar voice calls out to him. “Souvenirs!”

_Oh. What joy._

The silver haired man considered the other’s professed ‘souvenirs’. Acquainted with Hyuuga’s mischievous streak – almost on a daily basis – Ayanami choose the intelligent of options. He decides against it. His subordinate is sure to bring about problematic, ineffable nuisances: Nuisances that he will not allow or concern himself with.

Ayanami continued on his gait. None the faster, none the slower. Unlabored breath and heavy crunch of snow under similar boots he could pick up by hearing alone. The feeling of another following behind him was supposed to raise warning flags. But Ayanami learned to disregard it.

He had come to trust this man, had come to trust those that choose to follow him faithfully. Through thick and thin. No matter his decisions, no matter his choices. Until the damnest end of their damn time. Allowing himself to appear protected by his subordinates, similar to knights and followers pledging their devotion and lives to protect their king and leader, was the least he could do.

Hyuuga easily caught up to him. “Look, look Aya~” he draws for attention. “These combat slaves are strong! It took a minute to catch them.”

Between humouring his subordinate and dealing with his persistent pester, Ayanami rather went for the former. He looked over his shoulder once. _Battle-sklaves._ It was rare to see siblings, much less twins, young and very much alive, surviving in this world of day nowadays. They had potential. A pity he had no use for slaves.

Drawing out his sword, albeit receiving a look of alarm from Hyuuga, Ayanami cuts down the cuffs. “Your king is dead,” he said bluntly to the freed twins, weapon sheathed. “Go wherever you like.” He faced forward then without much afterthought and marched.

“Ehh??!” came the protesting whine. “What a waste! After the trouble of removing the collar… They have to be as strong as Teito Klein,” Hyuuga tried to reason. “I don’t think it would be a loss to take them with-”

_“You’re strong! Rumours of the Black Hawks have reached even this country!”_

Ayanami halted to a stop at the interruption of a new voice. Not because of the foreignism of said words, but the lucid familiarity of it. Ayanami remembered not the last he heard the words spoken by anyone’s tongue. Although the accent lean towards the northern part of the dialect than what he was used to, both hear and spoke, it was irrefutably of Raggs origin. Of Raggs language.

The dark haired of the two siblings was rather animated. Cheeky voice boldly speaking out loud in an excited manner towards their capturer. He was courageous as well, unlike his twin. The light haired was timid and careful. He was visibly distressed at the other’s outburst, desperately trying to stop his brother from voicing his thoughts known. Their audience were the Black Hawks, the ones who won their country in record time.

Still, unyieldingly, the louder one carries on full force.

_“Using ordinary zaiphon while fighting warsfeil-”_ The brother to one lit aflame with admiration. _“The warsfeil absorbed everything with unstoppable power! Let me meet your king! I want that power too!!”_

“I see, I see. You must be hungry, huh?”

Hyuuga smiles helplessly, patting what appears to be the older as the brothers engaged in their mother tongue. It was clear Hyuuga had not understood a word they were saying.

_“If,”_ Ayanami said in smooth Raggs, _“you want to meet the king, come by your own means.”_

And then he was off. Only to be stopped by a single question, innocent and naïve and yet harming in the worst way possible:

_“Are you the king?”_

A mental memory flashed into his mind – of a distinct scene transpiring in that fleeting, blinking seconds painting his subconscious. It reopened an old wound and evokes the precious, the most personal, of recollections. _It was clear and vivid and-_

Ayanami had to remind himself it was all in the past. He is in the present now. Focus on the present; Plan for the future. Yet, he longed to return to that exact moment. To this peaceful setting before everything collide and become the way things that had come to be.

If only he could reverse time. If only…

* * *

_There was a man with hair black as ebony. A pair of dark eyes, warm and brilliant, that could soothe the aching of hearts, if he tried, though that was reserved for only one person he made sure, stared down in concentration. Thinly framed glasses sat on a pointy nose, which made the male appear older and mature, threatened to slip but thankfully stayed in its place. Distracted, aware of being watched (a welcomed distraction, actually), the man looked up and stares back. And he smiled._

_That dark haired bespectacled man was Yukikaze. Forever his first and last begleiter._

_They were alone in his office. Just the two of them. He loved it when it was just the two of them. Sorting paperwork, immersing their selves in the pleasant silence that reign in between. It was almost domestic. But then, he had to interrupt. Had had to ask; had had to know._

_It ruined their cadence, of course, for Yukikaze stopped at once. Because Ayanami decided to ask his begleiter – whether Yukikaze regretted having him, whether it was a mistake to have him as his superior. Part of him was pleased, relieved even, at the other’s reaction. Even though the simple question itself was mean and despicable and uncalled for._

_Immediate fear and panic rushed onto his features as if warring against each other. A worrisome frown ultimately won and claimed its prize upon the dark haired man’s bright and handsome face. Then he blinked. He must have noticed his concern, the deep sadness tinged behind his words and hidden ache behind his equally impassive eyes, for he laughed. Yukikaze laughed at his ridiculous notion._

**_“Whatever has been running through your head? You, sir, think too much.”_** Yukikaze had teased after calming halfway down. **_“I would gladly follow Ayanami-sama anywhere, even to the ends of the earth!”_** he averred; **_“Because I follow the king. My King. And that king…”_**

_Time seemed to stop at that moment. Filled with anticipation, filled with dread. It was flattering altogether that the other declared his assertion, his unbreakable vow – and Ayanami truly believed such extravagance – to him that sealed the deal. He did not for a second doubt the other’s genuineness, but he had other reasons for concern._

_Yet, for all that agitation, every troubling thought seemed to wash away when Yukikaze stared at Ayanami. Gazed deep into his superior with great intensity._

_There was no need for physical contact. No more close propinquity, no more acts or touch of reassurance. Eyes was enough, utterly and intimately so._

_Yukikaze tenderly smiled at him. Admiration and respect was apparent, his reverent adoration for his Ayanami-sama true and real and sincere. Softly and gently, yet with steady purpose, he said his piece._

**_“My only King is you, Ayanami-sama.”_ **

* * *

_‘Oh, snow.’_

For a moment, the Chief of Staff seemed to have frozen in place. Perhaps he had not understood the question. Perhaps he had not heard it at all. Or perhaps he had not understood the language than the gibberish had been said. It was proven to be untrue when the man resumed his march, as if the pause he intended was deliberate.

_“I am not a King,”_ Ayanami replied in fluency and walked away.

Hyuuga tilted his head ever so slightly sneaking side glances at him. Just enough to let Ayanami know, albeit his inability to understand the spoken language, that he knew. Understood what, _who_ , was occupying his mind which had easily robbed his staunch attention and made him… distracted.

Still, Ayanami did not turn to correct him nor would he deny it. In a way, it was probably true.

After he had come all this way, he would not stop. Just as the snow that continues to fall over them and piles up in amount. Just as the lingering memories amassing into one heap bundle of haunting regrets, what-ifs, and pain. He will move forward and advance.

_‘You are not certain to be in this world. You make me recall my birthplace.’_

* * *

Toshiro could have sworn he heard his joints went snap, popping in places that shouldn’t _pop_. He could not, tried as he might, muffle a groan from escaping as his sinews stretched into blissful oblivion. Why did he even agree on doing it in the first place? He was too old for giving piggyback rides damnit.

Arching his back one last time, Toshiro turned in time to see Konatsu. The begleiter brought a serving tray of mugs and cups with him. “…Are you okay?” was asked in concern as it was set by the table.

Toshiro did not answer right away. He searched signs for Kuroyuri in the area only to find that the child warsfeil had disappeared. He probably ran off to pay Haruse a visit again.

“I am fine,” Toshiro replied then, smoothing down his uniform.

Konatsu nodded. “Do you want a serving too?” the older blond asked once he finished pouring steaming brown liquid – cocoa from the smell of it – into one of the randomly-picked drinkware. The ship must have run out of matching sets.

Toshiro held out a hand. “Thank for preparing much needed drinks, but I will have to pass. If you do not mind.” He paused. “Perhaps I should bring Kuroyuri-sama a mug. He would appreciate something warm over the cold.”

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment.”

Toshiro raised an eyebrow at that. “Care to explain?” He prodded quietly, coaxing the answer from the other with gesture alone. Konatsu relents.

“Kuroyuri-sama has been through a lot. This is his first mission without Haruse-san,” he reveals. “We should leave the commander alone for a while.”

Toshiro cannot seem to find the right words. A weak “Oh” came out instead. It was personal for Kuroyuri-sama, he knew, but the commander’s well-being is his main concern. “Best to leave him be then,” Toshiro decided, parroting. Hot cocoa would have to wait.

“Anyway,” Konatsu started. “Would you like anything else? I don’t have much experience on this.” The blond scratches his cheek, slightly embarrassed. “Katsuragi-san’s usually the one who prepares this sort for things. I’m only good at deskwork.”

Toshiro gave a quizzical look. He took a seat nonetheless, sitting across from Konatsu. “You should not limit yourself to one thing, Konatsu-kun. Trials and errors are common. Thus, we learn.” He reaches out for a cup among mugs. A shame there is no tea. “I had quite a few of my own. If anything, I would like to think that a bit too much is better than a bit too little.”

“That’s… That makes sense, actually.” Konatsu let out a small chuckle and shares a smile. “You don’t have to say it like that. I’m sure you’ll change your mind the moment you tried a taste. But thanks.”

Toshiro studied him as the other drank. Despite his demeanour, Konatsu appeared to be distracted. His posterior stiff.

The begleiter was the first Hawk to return when Toshiro and Kuroyuri boarded Ribidzile. He was alone at that time. Sat on a chair and staring into space; no Shuri on sight. Toshiro dares not interrupt – he seemed occupied in a world of his own. The other eventually came back to his senses at the sight of him none too happily carrying an elated Kuroyuri.

“I used to ride my brother when I was small. Almost... persistently.”

Toshiro bit his tongue and inwardly cringed at his divulging. Had no idea why he was blurting this to the other, but the words flow surprisingly light. An unspoken mellowness even.  

Konatsu slowly sat. “Sounds like you’re close with family,” the begleiter humoured him.

Toshiro gave a non-committal smile at the remark. “I suppose it does,” he said wryly.

They said no more, Konatsu not one to be wholly inconsiderate to read the situation. The silence went on. Not an awkward one, more of a pleasant thing.

Toshiro lifted the fragile teacup to his lips. He inhaled. The distinctive mild aroma of cocoa, bitter and sweet to an extent, flooded his nostrils. Toshiro wonders whether Konatsu had added traditional milk into the mix.

“Allow me to apologize.”

A furrowed eyebrow was raised at the sudden statement. “…Apologize?” Konatsu repeated, setting his mug down. “What for?”

Toshiro took a sip then, taking his time. “For Shuri-kun,” he eventually reveals.

The idea of cocoa was to drink rivulets of hot thick chocolate on a wintry, cold day. This, well… it had less to do with chocolate – a powdered kind, cheap. Ribidzile must be low on budget. And sugar. There was too much of it. Could have added a dash of cinnamon to ease it into something pleasant.

It was a… curious experience.

“He may be a pompous, self know-it-all and thinks himself as this superior kind–” Toshiro raises a hand, setting the cup upon its saucer. “Mind you, I am not saying this in his regard. But all things considered, he is not ready to face our reality.”

Yes he is the golden boy, the Oak who could do no wrong. And yes, he is the proud fellow that cried himself to sleep. Unbelievably so.

Konatsu had to carry the blond all the way to Ribidzile and patch his wound. That was partly Konatsu’s fault, the begleiter himself professed, for punching the day lights out of the Oak. Shuri had mocked the dead, and Toshiro found himself applauding for the begleiter’s decisive reprisal.

“He must have been frightened, for I was too. Though there is no excuse in the world for him to be deadweight.”

Though there is truth in his words, Toshiro is not one to resort to violence. Unless provoked, of course. He would much preferably use zaiphon than some other form of crude weapon. He would avoid conflict and withdraw, choose a gentle method. But then enemy soldiers had had to gang up on him.

The cadet fought back when they attacked. Enemies rushed at him reckless – either they were inexperience or too riled up in panic to care – closer and closer, too close for comfort. It limited his openings for range attacks. Toshiro had no choice but to slice through fleshes and limbs in his defense. Temporal incapacitation was the idea. He never intended to kill, merely impeded their movements. Made sure the wounds were not as fatal and avoid the permanent, major nerves.

Mercy could get himself killed, he knew. The very act of killing itself is difficult to grasp as well. Yet, taking someone’s life seemed easy. Watching Kuroyuri’s although vicious demonstrations did a number on him.

There was no means to fight against warsfeil except through executions by the church. And Antwort, made vulnerable after years of successive resistance against other power and little to trifling attempts at threats, thought no further for such scenarios to occur then and in the near future. But now… Now is too late for regrets. Even if one per se could use power to match that of warsfeil, one would still be consumed by his or her own darkness and die.

It was basically a suicide mission.

With a flick of the hand, soldiers liberated purple-black streams of wars through openings of eye sockets, mouths and noses and ears.  Bodies dropped to the ground drained without life. There were weak movements, twitches for a second, and then nothing.

_Silence. Complete and utter silence._

Only the feel of pure, raw adrenaline coursing through pulsing veins; in blood vessels that pumps the beating of the heart. Only the sounds of heavy panting that rings in deaf ears made brief that seemed to last for a lifetime; as oxygen leaves and mingles with abundant impurities that is dead air.

It was surreal. He could have been one with those people whom have lain, slain, in the snow. He could have been killed had it been not for his affiliation with the warsfeil. The only anchor that broke the spell. The spell that he cannot breathe, but he is alive indeed and well. Breathing and standing.

A little voice whispered it was not right, whispered that he should be ashamed. Ashamed at the inappropriate feeling he intentionally revelled in. He should stop, surrender if needed be: _He could stop this._ But it fainted. Fainted and faded. The fact that this is a mission prevented his undone. Either it was him or they. And Toshiro, he will not go out of his way if it meant it would jeopardize the mission.

Konatsu sets down his mug after a few swallow. “I don’t like that Oak, I’ll tell you that much,” he admitted. “It’s bad enough that we have one idiot in this ship; I don’t plan on putting up with another. If you know what I mean.”

Toshiro smiles, slowly, amused, against the rim of his cup. Oh he had no idea.

“Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue-green eyes went wide in surprise. "But I am no warsfeil." "So is Konatsu. I don't see that as a problem."

**Chapter 3**

* * *

 

Afterwards they engage in small talks.

It started off with the little things. Mostly asking about the Black Hawks and their nature up to the part where Toshiro questions Hyuuga’s tendencies to omit some, nearly all, particulars. The major is quite crafty, after all.

Konatsu snorted though. The begleiter certainly took hilarity out of his claim for it escalated into a proper laugh. One that is open and light-hearted. Toshiro fails to grasp the idea a laughing matter however. His apology and none the attempt to deny his allegation remedies that, to which Toshiro could willingly forgive Konatsu for keeping him in the dark.

“What usually comes out from the major probably means nothing,” the begleiter assures him at that time.

Konatsu personally knew his superior. There was no reason for him to lie. Unless, of course, he believes there is a need to. Although through association and their growing familiarity by the passing minute, he doubted the older blond would resort to that. And Toshiro argues no further. He would believe in Konatsu rather than that alluding major.

Toshiro finishes his cup in time to hear the sounds of boots marching up the stairs. Konatsu mechanically stood in attention. Head humbly hung low, back bent down at a ninety-degree angle and gaze levelled below or closed. Must be a ritual. It prompts Toshiro to follow the other’s cue. Before it could inspire him to do so Toshiro, in an unconscious reaction, stilled. All of his attention seemed to be centred on one person as everything faded into the background.

“Welcome back, Ayanami-sama.”

Toshiro rouses from his haze at the salutation. He greeted promptly and respectfully – again, following the begleiter’s cue. There was a stutter in his speech Toshiro could not help but be self-conscious of.  _‘Nice recovery, you fool. You could have done better than that,_ ’ chided his inner voice. The thought drained out when Toshiro met that person’s gaze. The chief of staff was aware of his flagrant staring.

The urge to panic under the scrutiny did not overcome him. Rather, it dulled in contrast. Toshiro thought he saw just a slight crack in Ayanami’s usually stoic face.

Worry was starting to invade Toshiro’s thoughts. Had he went out of his way? Thinking that he has been accepted in the eyes of this influential man? He must have looked more worried than he realised because the chief sealed the exposure, face becoming completely devoid of emotions. Toshiro tried to shake it off. It may have been nothing. That flash soft of a glint, fleeting, disappeared into the dark pools of violet eyes.  _It must have been nothing._

He could not read him, not even a silver fragment. As if he is a black page so sacred to even be tarnished by atrocious writings. It infuriates him, yet fascinates him all together. Toshiro wants to break him, little by little beyond raised walls, and see. If this enigma of a man let him.

Hyuuga choose that exact moment to ruin it.

“Shiro-chan~” Hyuuga called out too giddily. “What about me? Won’t you welcome lil’ ol’ me back too??”

Toshiro twitched. He smoothes the annoyance down before it had the chance to appear. “No,” the blond said sternly once he was certain he would not lose it and snap. His resolve dissolves to something akin to surprise when he turned to meet two new faces. “Who are they? Are they survivors?” Toshiro chances a guess.

“Yup and nope,” was the half-hearted reply. “Don’t know their names, but these two will be joining us!”

Konatsu proceed on chiding his defiant child of a superior. It reminded Toshiro the time he first met the group officially. A somewhat tedious exchange he rather not hears nor re-lives. The chief of staff was nowhere to be seen however when he searches for his silhouette. Perhaps the chief had decided on a tactical retreat to his quarters.

Thinking about it, Toshiro had never once seen the man worn out. It is possible. Yet it is difficult to imagine an at least tired version of the strong-willed and indifferent Hawk leader to appear in such a state. The silver haired was too perfect to even have flaws.

Apparently recruits, Toshiro properly took in their appearance with curiosity. They were identical to one another, twins no doubt, with contradicting personalities judging from their attitudes. The two were young, perhaps around his age or so.

_“Oh-ho! So this is the Black Hawks we’ve been hearing so much about, huh?”_

_“Suzu, stop it! Let’s behave before we get ourselves into trouble.”_

Hyuuga noticed Toshiro with the twins. He grabbed the chance to divert Konatsu’s scolding at them. “Don’t worry, they won’t bite!” It was deliberate and the begleiter took the bait.

“What are they saying?” Konatsu asked, interested. Hyuuga shrugged his shoulders in response.

“No idea. I don’t speak Raggs and Aya-tan’s already bailed out on me. He won’t help me translate!!”

“Uh-huh. I’m assuming this is your great of an idea to bring these two along then?”

Toshiro ignored the two Hawks, albeit missing the opportunity to witness the begleiter hitting his superior, which the latter rightly deserves, in favour of the twins. He followed the newcomers as they made their way towards the terminals, seeming to be unaware of their tail. Toshiro wondered who the twins were. They are survivors and yet they are not. Hyuuga’s nonsense baffles him.

When it comes to the aftermaths of war, survivors are rare. Even if they live, they could not survive on their own. Unless some saint of a soul came to their help. And the Black Hawks or the military are not those people.

It is possible that they were held hostage, but Toshiro doubted Antwort would imprison their people. If there is no reason to, of course. Their clothing however was similar to that of Antwort’s forces – hired arms perhaps? Be that as it may, they would still be killed on sight. The fact that they were brought back by the Black Hawks, spared and indubitably _here_ , Toshiro had to be wary.

_“Stop,”_ started Toshiro in perfect northern dialect.  _“I would advise you not to touch that.”_

The siblings from Antwort spun around, clearly caught red-handed at their soon-to-be dangerous prying.  _“Sorry-”_ the dark haired, the instigator, began. “ _Hey. You can understand us! Yuki, he understands us!”_

The light haired appears to share his brother’s excitement.  _“Yes, Suzu, I heard him. Are you from Antwort too?”_ he said this to Toshiro.  _“Your accent sounds a lot like ours.”_

Toshiro considered how much information he would be willing to divulge.  _“It has been a while,”_ he admitted as he settles on the half truth,  _“but yes. I speak Raggs. However, my hometown is not that of Antwort. I came from the Sixth District.”_

_“That’s a long way from home, isn’t it?”_ the older sibling remarked.  _“Anyways, it’s good to have someone whom we could talk to that actually understands us. There’s that other man too, but he’s not much of a talker.”_

“Well, well. Would you look at that; Shiro-chan could speak Raggs too! Hey, Konatsu, look-”

Toshiro blatantly ignores Hyuuga completely.  _“Are you referring to Ayanami-sama?”_ he proffered.

_“So that’s his name! This Ayanami-sama seems to be strong! That shady guy sure is too.”_ A finger was pointed at Hyuuga. _“He even removed our collars, see. Thanks to him! Can you tell him we’re thankful? A lot?”_

Hyuuga points at himself. “Me? What about me? What’s he saying?” he asks excitedly. “I don’t know what you three are talking about, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying bad things about me! I think. Tell them I’m cool and super,  _super_ , nice, Shiro!”

_“Do not let his silly acts and hearty smiles fool you,”_ Toshiro warns in a conspiring manner, voice dire.  _”That man is dangerous.”_

The light haired was evidently worried. His warning on the other unfortunately had an opposite effect than he planned on inspiring.

_“Really? Hey you, man with the dark glasses! Come and fight me!”_

Toshiro pulled the straying brother before Hyuuga got any idea.  _“You mentioned about a collar?”_ He treaded carefully then, entrapping the Antwort sibling’s attention to him.  _“By collar… You mean…”_

_“We are battle sklaves.”_ Toshiro was surprised to be answered by the younger twin. It was drawled and he seemed ashamed, sad even, about it. And it lowered his defences around them. “ _Does that… Does that bother you?”_

Toshiro shook his head.  _“The life of a sklave is not an easy life, I imagine. Even more so for those trained specifically for combat, yes?”_ he said. _“What is a sklave’s worth if there is no master to own them? There is no value. None. But when you are freed, when those horrible collars on your neck and tight flesh-digging shackles that bounds you are removed, you are free. And it ends then. That is when you have your value back. Your value as human beings that has a will and dreams.”_

The former battle sklaves tilted their heads.  _“You are free, both of you. I should never have asked that.”_  Toshiro gave an apologetic smile in return.  _“Are you planning on joining the military?”_

_“If it procures me power like theirs, then yes! Are you strong too? I’m Suzu!”_ the older gestured at himself.  _“And this is Yuki!”_

_“Toshiro,”_ he introduced modestly. “ _However, I am not strong as you might think I am.”_

_“Why’s that?” the younger, Yuki, asked. “You’re Black Hawks. Aren’t you?”_

Toshiro was about to answer but stopped himself. He would have disagreed, dismiss it by telling them he is not part of the Black Hawks, if it were not for his constant involvement with these people. He has lived his life evaluating claims and ideas based upon reason and logic and judged how they correlate with reality in answering the unknown. With facts and undeniable evidence served on a silver platter, Toshiro should be able to answer this.

…And yet, against all logic, he did not. This is beyond his understanding, beyond his comprehension. He could not, try as he might, escape the cycle. It was disconcerting. Remarkably the aspect did not entirely frighten him. Rather, it was reassuring. There was a sense of belonging in it; they welcoming and he allowing. Perhaps he could obtain the answer if he stayed. A wishful thinking unfortunately.

_“Come now. Sit with us at the table.”_

* * *

Despite the massive ever present language barrier existing in between, the Antwort twins seem to get along well with Hyuuga – namely in the case of Suzunami. Toshiro fails to see the major’s appeal however the daring newcomer demonstrates. Suzunami took an instant liking to the man, adopting an excited manner as he converses with Hyuuga. And Hyuuga, not understanding a word said, receive or given, indulges him either way.

Toshiro translated on some instances, mostly inserting misdirection and false innuendos here and there. He had no reservations for the irritating man. Eventually Toshiro left the two to their own devices. As much as he hates to admit it, they click like clockwork. Two altered diverse gears working in sync. Toshiro only hopes Major Hyuuga is a good influence.

While the other twin, he found, was being less agreeable. A quaint fellow. Not much of a talker, opting to offer simple gestures in form of smiles, nods and shakes of the head. For that Yukinami instantaneously gains his approval.

The light haired is more of an observer; wary and careful. It reminded Toshiro of a lost puppy, unsure and hesitant, with surroundings and unmarked territories that felt alien. The over flood of new smells attacking purely overwhelming. An untamed bundle of nerves. Paranoid, no. Not quite. Only anxious and distraught in the face of others when it comes to his other half.

Twins share a soul, they say. Toshiro could tell their bond lay just as deep – as friends, as brothers.  _Family_. Perhaps that is one particular connection, deep, that identical siblings share. He could not say much about his however.

Toshiro and Ohtori were close, an inseparable force that cannot be sever by any form. Practically holding hands when they came out from their mother’s womb. Cries when the other cried; sleep when the other sleeps. The brothers share almost all. From birthdays, likes and dislikes; personality and appearances, attitudes and mannerisms, and speech. Their very nature mirroring and mimicking each other.

It is as if you are seeing double through mirrored reflections, hearing through a tunnel of reverberating echoes. If not Toshiro, then of Ohtori. If not of Ohtori, then Toshiro. It could go either way, really. The only thing that differentiates them from one another is their eyes.

Ironically such brotherly attachment did not prevent them from the idea of separation.

But then, after nearly one long decade, they were united once again. Brought together under unwanted circumstances however so like some twisted plot. Oh and how much they both changed.

Toshiro barely recognizes his brother. His twin. The very person he constantly denied during his stay, the immature adolescent he kept at arm’s length. That explains his instant familiarity, the clinginess. A rather desperate attempt to hold onto the ghost of their past lives, Toshiro ruminated. To preserve the memory maybe. Perhaps he too missed it, missed  _them_. Should have hugged him back, should have called him Tori as he had called him Shi.

His twin was doing well, quite well actually, over the course of ten years. Toshiro discovered him to have become benign and congenial, helpful towards fellow acolytes and nuns while respectable towards the bishops, all and sundry. Not that he was oh so curious when he caught sight of him.

Ohtori has always been the better half, the better him. It would have made sense if the spotlight shone on Ohtori. He couldn’t imagine himself to pursue the path of a bishop, a servant of God. Not when his world ceased at some point during the war. The idea that their father continue to put much expectation out of him, their relationship more or less strained, is lost upon Toshiro.

They were equals; kith and kin, flesh and blood, of Rolfe lineage. Coursing through their very veins. Brothers that would make history together. There is no excuse not to expect on both. That deserving light should have been directed at the other sibling as well. It is a flawed system, which in the end, ultimately leaves them in a rut.

Toshiro was pulled from his thoughts at the slight tug of his uniform. He turned to see the younger Antwort twin sporting up an inquisitive gaze.

_“Hyuuga-san keeps on saying ‘Shiro-chan’,”_ Yukinami started off innocently.  _“Why’s that? Is he referring to you?”_

Toshiro twitches than intended. The annoyance must have showed on his face for the light haired quickly amended.

_“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have asked. You clearly don’t like being called that.”_

Yukinami stared down at the table blatantly refusing eye contact. He was mortified, ashamed. Toshiro felt he was in the wrong in this unintentional misunderstanding. Inwardly he sighed.

_“Quite a good eye you got there. A useful trait,”_ Toshiro praises as a means of an apology.  _“That is correct, yes. I do not. However, it is not as petty as a reason one might have initially thought.”_

The other raises his head, abandoning his embarrassment for a second in exchange for plain curiosity.  _“So…”_ Yukinami tested though hesitant.  _“Does that mean you like it?”_

The bespectacled blond felt an incoming twitch. He swerved it in time to disguise into an exhale.

Idiocy he would tolerate; naivety he also would. But in all its simplicity, Toshiro could not stand for prying. Some questions should not be answered, said and forgotten or left unsaid at all. It was tiresome. Toshiro already had endured enough. He did not know how long his mentality and physical being will last upon his consciousness. Though tiredness was not a direct resultant of the other’s prying but rather it is in his insights.

Yukinami is far too perceptive for his liking. With the pureness in his inquisitive side of which he sells too finely, it is absolutely trying. Then again, what is Toshiro Rolfe if not a tad patient.

_“I am not by any means against it, no,”_ Toshiro explains.  _“It is a matter of ‘who’ whom addresses said callings. In the case of Major Hyuuga here, as you can see, acquires this sort of habit and tends to give these…_ nicknames.  _As such,”_ He leans forward with fingers entwined, “ _it would not be long for him to call your brother ‘Suzu-tan’ and you ‘Yuki-chi’ or other suffixes he deems fit.”_

Toshiro rests his forehead upon the edge of his narrowly articulating skin bridge of fingers. Their conversation was left at that for the other to ponder. Already he felt light-headed, head throbbing intensely signifying the beginning of a headache. Toshiro cringes at the acute pain; his weary was showing.

“Please,” he began, barely managing to conceal his tired voice. Made sure to speak in the language most in the ship understands. “Is there a room I could retire to? Seeing that I was a… last minute addition on such short notice.”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t have a room, do you?”

The way he was positioned face down with hands concealing half of his face restricts Toshiro from seeing the speaker. The voice that was previously unenthused, now excited, concludes it was said by Hyuuga.

“I know!” was chirped excitedly. “You could use mine and Konatsu’s!”

Toshiro lowered both arms and stare the enthused major squarely on the face. His usual grin had stretched into a facetious smile. Almost… sinister. Toshiro could not help but furrow his brows. He frowns. Surely Hyuuga is jesting.

“That is absurd,” countered Toshiro. It came out far weaker than he expected. “I could not possibly impose on the two of you more than I currently have. The Black Hawks had been most utterly kind. In fact, I am over exceeding my time here beyond that of a necessary’s stay. I feel this is a gratuitous overplay of benefits for an outsider.”

“Now what are you blabbering on about?” Hyuuga chided as though Toshiro is the one being ridiculous. “I don’t think you get it. You’re one of us now, Shiro-chan! Of course it’ll be alright. Why wouldn’t it?”

Blue-green eyes went wide in surprise. “But I am no warsfeil –”

“So is Konatsu. I don’t see that as a problem.”

Toshiro search signs for pretences, anything, that could be use to protest and refute against. For Toshiro could not assimilate. Unable to accept the other as true, the affirmation, without said begleiter to turn to. Turn to the begleiter and seek the importance of this matter his superior brilliantly fails to reconsider.

There was no pull of the leg here, Toshiro soon realizes. Hyuuga, the frivolous, lackadaisical man he was getting accustomed to his anticstical instigations, is being serious for once. And it actually scares him, truth be told. Tremendously.

* * *

Teito stared in befuddlement. After wandering around in a relatively frenzied rush, being distracted is a good thing. The brunet nearly had a panic attack. Running just so he could escape the feeling of overcome did poorly slow his hyperventilation.

Through the secret tunnel of the church’s warped creation, the petals Labrador instructed had led them out to an alleyway. The Seventh District’s back alley, Frau says. They barely escape what with the military chasing them like hounds. Frau seem to know his way around well, too well, for every sharp turns and corners they took. His suspicions had to be left at that however when Teito witnessed a scene.

In the vicinity of the secluded area, Teito noticed a young boy in dirty clothing. With him was a nosed-ring man, head almost bold save for a large tuft of hair at the centre of his scalp. Adding to his cruelty in appearance, the man clutches a whip cord in hand. Inflicting lashings strikes upon tender expanse of raw skin.

Teito watched on with restrained rage he could muster. The defenceless child made himself appear small. Frightened and injured and covered in grime and dirt: The boy was fucking crying! Only two equally bruised hands held up to shield against the inexorable pain. The man didn’t even care. He whipped and whipped, and he whipped. Teito would not stand idle for it and jumped. From the hawkzile, his legs became an absolute weapon.

There and then the party met Capella, the sweet boy they helped escape.

The atmosphere of Ria was suffocating different it turns out. Teito was used to a quiet life, calm and systematic environment. Not a vibrant and chaotic life of which District Seven’s northern-most city currently present. He only meant to meander through the cobbled streets, exploring and admiring the various shops and stalls. Hell, look wondrously like a five year old kid at the vast ocean of diverse people walking by. He tried inconspicuous. It merely worked well against him.

People –  _strangers_  – were talking to him.

Teito certainly is no social butterfly. He is socially awkward, didn’t know how to react most of the time, often misunderstood and seldom understood, if not a bit shy despite his aloof barriers. The teenage brunet felt pressurized with the exposure, the socialization. It was too fast, too quick. And Teito could not adapt.

Of course, Frau was always there to catch him. Grab a hold of him before he fell. Teito was not sure whether he was supposed to mean it literally or not.

“That’ll be 200 yuus!”

Teito blinked a few times watching as Frau conversing with a middle aged man. He sells what appears to be food, food Teito had never seen before nor had the pleasure to appreciate, behind his stall. Frau seems to be satisfies with the pricing. He fished something from his inner coat and unfolds it. A few metallic pieces were exchanged in return for two wrappings of apple on a stick.

The man said his thanks, “Pleasure doing business with ya, sonny. Come ‘gain!”

Teito continues to gawk unwittingly. He decided to ask his curiosity after much consideration. “…What’s that?”

“What.” Frau glances down at his apprentice. He gives him a smug look, amused that the brunet was acting his age for a change. Adorable damn brat Frau murmured as he tucks his leather wallet inside his coat. “It’s what makes the country go round – money.”

“Heeeh… I was paid in kind in the military…”

The bishop all but stared dubiously at Teito’s awe. He wanted to laugh it out, ridicule the brat in some way regarding his new-found discovery – found himself unable to however. It was utterly ludicrous. No kid should be  _that_  sheltered. He guessed it had to do with the teen’s upbringing.

“What kind of sheltered kid are you,” said Frau. “…Anyway, it’s fine if you don’t use money. It’s overrated.”

Teito opened his mouth to protest. Words did not come however, mouth hanging open, for Frau chose that moment to push a candied apple into him. He did promised them treats after all.

Frankly Teito was at a loss for words, his voice of disapproval stunted. Too busy marvelling at the wonderful burst of sweet explosion in his mouth. “It’s an apple, but it’s sweet!” he said more to himself after saying his thanks, oblivious to Frau’s further disbelief. Teito shared his experience with Mikage, the pup taking a few small bites, and Capella. The boy too relish in his first experience with confectioneries.

With Capella lifted and seated in between on Frau’s broad shoulders, the group began to walk the streets together.

“I looked into ‘Seele’ when I was at the church,” began Teito. They came up to a corner and took its path, walking up several steps then while passing bystanders as they continued ahead.  “It’s just as you said Frau. Follow the Seven ‘God Houses’ and you can go there, right? There weren’t any documents on the God Houses though.”

“Oh, you move fast.”

Teito tersely halted to a stop, stiffening and jerking up at the accolade. Frau rarely gave him praise. Even if he did, he would hear nothing but in the form of teases and sarcasms from the older male. The way he said it this time felt genuine. Teito was unsure what to make of that. Somehow he felt himself getting warm, refused to acknowledge it a blush or an embarrassment, within those fleeting seconds.

“It’s important to research the God Houses. It’s true,” Frau said, making room for Teito to recover in record time. “But the God Houses aren’t the church. They’re an organization with the goal of prospering the seven continents. Among them are those who made great achievements during the Raggs War.”

“…Is it alright to talk about that sort of thing?” Teito asked, cautious. Frau was trudging on dangerous waters. Is the man  _trying_  to tempt him? “Wouldn’t I want revenge on them?”

Frau looked over his shoulder and smirked. Smirked like an uncharacteristic bishop that he deceitfully is.

“If the time comes,” he said, “do as you like.”

* * *

Nights they fall. Settling like snow. Engulfing the world as we know it in a state of darkness. Lingering and ephemeral at the same time, and yet always  _there._ Even as the sun rise above heads and hung in the sky, as comets and stars light up the universe whole with all its little lights, there is a state of darkness.

Seeking solace in her arms in gratified appreciation regardless its promise of solitary was Ayanami. It felt right for the man clad in black, felt right for the omnipotent seed of evil shrouding in darkness. It felt like coming back home.

The leader of the Black Hawks was resting in his room, enjoying the calm of the night’s sky in the company of darkness. He bothers not to turn on the lights. For lights are distractions: Stinging to the eyes, burning to the skin. He would have banished the very light itself into oblivion had he had his way. Distractions are a hindrance, among many things.

For how long had it foiled his meticulous planning, influencing the variables and widening the loop holes he made sure close to non-existent. Always a constant. Like an irritable itch that could not be scratch.

 If there are no allowances for such things, life would be quite mundane.  _Vanilla._  Nevertheless its disruptions of set routines. Perhaps that was the reason he let that boy become a distraction, become a harmless addition to his little group of faithful Hawks. Though that belief, with the way things are at the moment, may be the result of a lack of better judgment on his part.

Ayanami knew, has full confidence even, that the boy would live. There is a reason he decided to take him along. Took a chance on him. And he did not disappoint.

There is something about the boy that Ayanami could not explain. Not as far as unique like one Teito Klein, but unique in his humanly way. Had hopes for him to join the Black Hawks. Why else could he have survived with Kuroyuri alone? That suffices for a reason. That is, until he proved himself capable. But when he did, when he proved himself more, his value as a distraction somehow strayed. Went afar than he originally placed him in. Ayanami had not anticipated it this soon.

Toshiro Rolfe had welcomed his return where the boy Shuri Oak fails to fulfil one of the simplest duties of a begleiter. For a brief moment, just a fragment of that second, there was a swell threatening to warm the pits of his cold heard. It spread through him the warmth. The familiar warmth long ago he believe he could never have felted again. _A curious thing._

It had been a while for anyone to properly draw his attention.

Subordinates essentially are to greet their superiors. It shows respect and courtesy for the men in question. Ayanami had given and he had received many in his days. He would nod in acknowledgment to downright ignore if he so chooses. His begleiter for one thing was an exception.

Yukikaze the one that was all too eager to greet his return, Yukikaze the one who could have effortlessly caught his attention. He was a great contrast compare to those other insignificants.

There is a difference between obligatory and self-willing. Ayanami contently bask in its afterglow. Such a thing would ever happen in his office, when it left only the two, freely be known. Their feelings were mutual and his had been reciprocated. What exists in the office stays in the office. Though similar nuances are shared in bed. At least in the emotional sense at the stage of their relationship, if it could be called that.

The journey home is long and arduous. A good five hours flight departure for Antwort and another five hours flight return to District One. Just hundreds and hundreds of miles the distance left. Just one more night to reach the gates and pass through the border.

Into a sleepless dream, one of haunting and anguish, Ayanami was about to drift to when footsteps were heard outside the corridors. It was a faint resounding through the hallway, growing stronger and louder, until it came to a stop directly at his door. He ignores it, dismisses it as Hyuuga’s. The man with the excuse of checking on him would enter uninvitingly. There to aggravate. There to impose. No one had the gulls to enter the chief of staff’s dwelling without reason, after all. Except for said groundless man.

There was the slide of the door opening. Ayanami sat there on his chair quietly about, engross seamlessly with the dark. None would notice him hidden within the room. Only an unoccupied, empty, dark room revealed ahead. It would not escape Hyuuga despite so.

Ayanami expected Hyuuga’s effervescent voice but instead was greeted by silence. Tonight seems not to be his typical meddling.

Shadowing in the dark Ayanami did nothing. Footsteps, ever stumbling, unlikely of his subordinate proceed on entering his room. It was clear the person – a newcomer, he assumes, uninformed enough to stir clear – is not familiar with this room judging by the constant bumping. The silver haired would not have stayed quiet if not for the curiosity that came to pique his intrigue.

Who is the lamb foolish enough to wander into the unknown of the spider’s lair and its ensnaring web, he wonders.

The trespasser made its way forward before stopping momentarily. If Ayanami didn’t know any better, he would have mistaken it for discovery. His unwelcomed company headed for the bed, maddeningly oblivious of his portentous presence at all. Ayanami was about to say a word, at once ending the charade and punish whoever dares to not only enter his personal quarters but to sleep in his bed. He quashed his wrath with startlingly calm silence defying his very nature when he saw who the perpetrator actually is.

Ayanami suddenly became hesitant. Oddly enough. He took a moment to gather his thoughts – a moment or two to ensure the figure that lay snugly in his bed was fast asleep – before he left the comfort of his chair. Slowly he stood and tentatively he approaches. Without the bat of the eye Ayanami already knew.

Under the pale illumination from the moon, he recognizes Toshiro Rolfe.

There was no mistake about it. The boy from Reconnaissance is in his bed.  _In his bed,_  he repeated. Under normal circumstances… well, there was nothing  _normal_  about this.

Pushing the unwelcome thoughts away, the silver haired regarded the sleeping cadet. He was a little if not a bit curious. What had made him think of his dead begleiter was beyond him. They had neither a semblance nor an ounce of similarity whatsoever. And somehow –

Ayanami noted fair skin, slightly tanned by direct exposure to the sun, trickling with strings of thin perspiration. Stray blond tresses curls chaotically upon definite facial features that made the recons boy look younger as long lashes rests upon cerise cheeks. He looked upon closer inspection over the cadet. Froze at the brief stir that would cause hearts of a common human to literally drop before easing down to see delicate lips part open and breathe out warm puffs of air.

Apathetic eyes with the colour of transparent purples trails upwards again. He halted where those obstinate and petulant eyes would gaze behind glistening optics. It dawns on Ayanami that he didn’t take notice of its colour nor depth, put on a mental note to consider it. He traced back the frames to the lenses and look.

_Somehow_ _it marked the beginning of a war within him; between the part of him that favours this immediate acceptance and the part of him that denies this chance of familiarity, intimacy, he was given. He had been alone, pushed countless of people that came too close. Yet that loneliness – no matter how many years it would take him to endure, tried by the thrill of being understood and the desire to be seen, and the addiction he had been exposed to through companionship, connection and attachment – this loneliness tempts to desire… someone he could confide in._

At once Ayanami pulled his towering body at the image reflected by the glass. It promptly ended his scrutiny. Reminded him his position – whom he was, where they were – there and then. For this is inappropriate. A detrimental path, were he to continue.

The chief of staff stood erect. He stepped back, once more returning to take his seat. Whether it was unwise of him or not to linger remains questionable. Ayanami cares less.  He closed his eyes and contemplates, began to search and swim. Yukikaze no longer plague his mind, it seem. Neither did the nightmares.

_What a curious thing indeed._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This taste…” Toshiro winced. It was not a good sign. Never a good sign this led. And he prepared himself for the inevitable, “peculiar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took me months after months to update. I seem to have lost my touch on writing, and my muse… Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: Please ignore all links and proceed on reading.

**Chapter 4**

* * *

As the whimsical moon revolves around the clandestine sun, he sleeps. As the inky blackness of night replaces the bright radiance of day, he sleeps still. A blissful haven, located deep within the threshold of one’s subconscious. A mindscape of retreat for imagining figments upon figments of one’s own creation, of epic tales and fantasy, of desires and fancy; these wish-fulfilments never could be adulterated in the world of unconscious minds.

Yet dreams, despite their lucid realities behind closed eyes, never seem to transpire from such deep slumber.

There was a time when he had dreamed, truly dreamed. Often a rare happenstance. But when he did – when he swayed himself to dream; when the promise of altered scenarios and what-ifs were at the reach of mere finger tips – it lingers. _It stays._

Dreamt of the lucid past Toshiro would. Dreamt of the life and family he should never left. Dreamt of the things he cannot have. It was a play of memories – the happy childhood of his younger self, the warmness of the small community of their church he loved, the old man he held in great wonder and admiration – that keeps playing on repeat. His moments with the flowers were the most treasured. The moment in time when he was truly innocent, untainted and naïve.

_I_ _’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m –_

The presence of flowers became a constant in his dreams as of late. Their faint fragrance, pithy to a point, once succinct, had become sharp. A tang of rich earth and a hint of wet dews of fresh grass and soaked petals. It quelled the sorrow, the guilt and the shame that fight to become one, clawing and scratching closed doors. The flowers held the inner monster at bay. Put back together the crumbled walls as creeping vines ‘til it mends itself into a sort of webbing, traps and prevents its release into the open it could.

There is none of that this time around.

Toshiro could not put a finger. Something was different, he knew for certain. Thought too much, too little. He would not point aimlessly in the dark. When the pendulum did swing and the penny was dropped, things suddenly began to click into place: His dreamscape was changing.

Toshiro found himself not in his usual mindpalace. The precious backyard garden of their humble District Six home, exposed to sunlight and water and air, he built from remaining memories. It was replaced. In its stead he was inside a garden of sorts. Indoors. Cool. With plants and trees, the humid air, the cold night and, and… _and_ _life._

He is back. Back in the Seventh District’s greenhouse.

It was just as he remembered. Just as he had left them pure in memoir. The same disc moon, full and bright and round, hung in the sky. The moonshine shines those under its grace. Leaves evergreen and glistening in the night air falls and rains. And yet it did not. Any sort of semblance ends there.

The leaves hovered over the stagnant landscaped. As if glued to the horizon, as if in controversial between touching and brushing than swiping everything in its path by the pull of gravity. Therein is the absence of thereof. Defies the rules of physics, defies the rules of Earth. Time as if frozen.

A vista preserved in a way such remarkable mural should grandly be displayed within the mind’s walls. It is an adequate term for it, Toshiro thinks. And Toshiro will stare at it, this work of art of its own volition. Name it and claim it. Memorize it and ingrain it as something valuable even beyond price.

Because this is his, his and his alone. To see and to have. _Until someone breaks the unreality he believes to be real. Bona fide._ But then everything came apart and crashed like shattering cosmos. Like the break of a fragile teacup.

Someone had broken the spell.

Transcendence resumed: Leaves fall, wind blows, and the moon wanes along with the shifting gray clouds. It marked an arrival, the coming. For in his dream, he saw a man.

With hair white as snow and eyes astute and dull, Toshiro nearly mistook the man with Ayanami. There was this uncanny resemblance, analogous – the unusual hair and dazzling purples that seem to bore through his soul. Alas the similarity ended there. The man standing before him is not the daunting Black Hawks leader. He is not Ayanami-sama.

Lavender and flowers, Toshiro recognized immediately; a scent he have become acquainted quite too often. There was no mistaking it. He smells of lavender and flowers.

Everything suddenly fit together all nicely. The missing pieces, the gaping hole. Even in this illusory, vivid dream, the flowers reacted so strongly. This man the one man the flowers held in high regards. _The man they bowed their heads in respect._ They slithers towards him, pulling them like moths to the flame. And it rips him.

Dread and distrust tugged at his chest. Toshiro felt just a shy of betrayal spark at their public affection, intimacy. It was too paltry however to ever be the beginnings of a bad dream, much less a nightmare.

A name sprung – Profe. _Beautiful Profe_. It was hard to forget what with the flowers chanting it almost a prayer, drilling it into his head, every so often.

Toshiro doubted it was this man’s true name. Profe rang out with the semblance of a title, a term perhaps, or maybe an honour. Yet he donned a suspiciously-looking attire, the silvery night emphasizing its dark and feathery outlines.  The way he carried himself had the patent grace of a bishop’s – a bishop from the church then, Toshiro assumed.

Or perhaps not.

He was, to put it in words, otherworldly.

The man looks squarely at him. His gaze implies sadness despite the blank and dead flat stare. Full lips moved and mouth quirked to form words. Toshiro could see it, could understand it. Yet hear it he could not. Too faint, too hushed. It seemed urgent. It seemed important. It–

Toshiro was pulled back forcefully to the living world, his abrupt awakening not a pleasant one. The pale blond panicked in the blackness, his unknown surrounding all dark and alien. The feeling of being restricted makes the situation worse – the need to struggle and thrash urgent.

_Where_ _’s Father?_

_Where_ _’s Mother?_

_Where_ _’s Tori-nii?_

Toshiro felt like falling, drowning… _sinking._ When he finally came back to his senses, he blinked. His face was soaked with cold perspiration.

Tiny beads of secreted saline crown along his temple caused sallow tresses to curl like a miniature halo stuck upon his forehead. His breathing soft and ragged before it evens down. Relief was allowed to sweep over him, grip him, then, after he finally heaves a sigh. Deep and heavy. And Toshiro closed his eyes, willing them to hide the fear and bloodshot teals under strained eyelids.

Well. This is new.

_‘Not home,’_ Toshiro tells himself. _‘I am alone. Inside Ribidzile. With the Black Hawks.’_

Somehow, that bitter fact was rather… reassuring.

It took Toshiro a few bats of the eyelashes to process his state. Tangled in sheets he found at the attempt to get up. He must have fallen asleep.

The pillows were too damn soft and fluffy, the bed fucking-temptingly inviting. He had a short moment to debate as to why there was only one bed in the room when he entered. Hyuuga and Konatsu shared a room. They might as well share a bed too. He shrugged the possibility at that time.

Look what indifference had gotten him in to.

Perhaps he should blame his body for eagerly surrendering to the softness of the plush mattress for clouding his reasoning.

With effort and some twists and turns, Toshiro finally freed himself. He rubs his face with his freed hand and stopped dead. He felt slicked warm skin on the edge of fingertips than the feel of a cold plastic frame.

The absence of glasses where upon his awakening should have gone askew transpired naught. Strange. Was sure he had not taken it off some time ago. It baffles the blond to see them placed on the end table when he turned instinctively to his side. He sighed in relief as he lied back.

At the very least, he didn’t damage his glasses in restless sleep. Such accident would leave him unwarranted difficulties.

Then, something suddenly wiggled in Toshiro’s uniform. Made itself be known as it worms upwards, tickling against sensitive skin and leaving ghostly traces of its trail. It sent shivers and raises hairs. Toshiro tenses. Though soon relaxes as he recalled evergreen vines purposely curled and hidden under long sleeves.

_“…Is something amiss?”_

Even without seeing Toshiro could feel the life vine’s non-existent bout of worry bore into him, as they uncurled to completion, intense and disquieting. The smooth touch to his face was gentle, the brush to his cheek caressing. As though he was the epitome of a being too precious. _Flattering really._ Toshiro considers protesting however. Their depiction of him as something… delicate was dissentaneous. Whether intended to or not, the life vines always meant well.

In silence the blond did not speak at their probing. Instead he leans, leans into the touch. They soothe him.

_“Rest, Kind. Sleep,”_ the wiry vines gently sang. _“Return to your repose and allow sleep to bestow you.”_

Toshiro desist his root of comfort, aware. Something was wrong here. Their usual whispers, chiming and lilting, was rather squeaked in this instance. He refrains from commenting.

Amongst other things, sure, he had no idea where these extra sheets of linen possibly came from. Toshiro could have sworn he passed out cold with the enthusiasm belies that of a sack of meat. He ponders a bit, mind too sluggish to even fathom out everything. Refusing sleep Toshiro decidedly got up and sits, weight sinking slightly into the mattress.

It felt hours had gone by. His state of mind hasn’t fully recovered. He was not a heavy sleeper by far, at best, but his worn body needed rest in sleep. The clock however showed that he had slept for a mere four hours. The habit, he believes, of staying up late at night until dawn approaches had something to do with it.

He would have read his books for such occurrences. Hold his little flashlight or nothing at all but the dim lighting from the moon during his time at the Academy. Pass the time by until sleep laden him, or wait the early sun rises – whichever comes first.

This time, it seems, neither would wait for him this time around.

* * *

Surely late and dark outside, as stars and comets dances in the still night bund, Dawn has yet to come. Meanwhile, a rather pacing Toshiro made his way down the narrow corridors.

Back and forth the Recons unit boy went, and back and forth again he goes. Should have taken the alternate route to this, should have stayed until morning came. But no. His self be damned.  He could not, is not, able to make himself comfortable on a bed, much less a room, which is not his own.

Familiarity was one thing the pale blond needed. And the flowers, his non-human, evergreen companions, were being of no help at all.

Retracing back his steps, Toshiro tried to remember his way back. Surely the break room cannot be far ahead.

He went from section to section, platform to platform; opened many doors and entered countless rooms. When Toshiro finally did found it, had chastised himself for forgetting the bridge, more than half of the task force already turned in for the night. Heck. He could count the remaining others less than ten fingers. They must be waiting for the people that came to replace them at the end of their shifts.

Toshiro entered, the door closing behind with a swish. It alerted those within, for their fixed attention upon the screen shifted onto him. A sudden silence so intense soon followed. Grim looks of uncertainty and chary, pity even, was directed at him – none too subtle either – now that he was without the company of the Black Hawks.

They looked at him strangely. Nothing was said and none was voiced, but their body language, their attitudes towards him, contradicts their very action. It was in their eyes.

_A fish in a tank full of sharks. A lone guppy swimming in an enormous body of water too big._

Toshiro understood not why they view him as such. An ignorant newcomer indeed he is but an oblivious one he is not. He nevertheless made his way suavely past them. Polite greets to simple acknowledgements of a nod, more or less, was exchanged and received. He went up the stairs then.

None were in the break room it seems, Toshiro soon discovers. Had the place all to himself. Disappointment however overrode what pleasant delight he had little within him. For the break room was in disarray.

Haphazardly stacked cups, relatively empty and used, not to mention stained, were strewed upon the glossy planes of smooth countertops. Only fools thought saucers would make a good job at balancing the threatening downfall personified. Toshiro advances still, face already contorting in palpable disgust. He could smell the bitter taste of stale coffee. At the sight of mugs, half-filled and untouched, the colour quickly drains from his already pallid face.

_What horrid deed- Debasing such bittersweet nectar of life_ _…! Becoming a waste to all that is glorious caffeine… It was poorly made too! I-is that… Is that_ sludge _?_

Toshiro took a deep gulp of calming air, remembering to breathe proper then. He was overly exaggerating this. He considers preparing tea. _A distraction_. Something to wither away the heartbreak. One should take on the good – salvage anything, may it be a speckle of crumb among dust and dirt, that could be saved – and leave behind the bad. Not all is entirely lost after all.

Unbuttoning golden trimmed cufflinks, Toshiro removes his jacket. Wouldn’t want it to be wrinkled in the midst of work. Draping it over a chair, Toshiro began to clear the disarray. Carefully he detaches the crude tower of cups and saucers into the sink and threw away the disgusting slops down the drain that remains. The break room seem bearable now once the cleaning was done.

Toshiro scours the break room for teabags afterwards, toeing cupboards and bending to reach cabinets, only to find the ship was left with a selection of low quality blends and instant coffee to choose from.

Tea was clearly out of the question. He would have to make do for the night.

Waiting for the water to boil Toshiro walked up to the very end of the platform. He watched as the very people who made Ribidzile work.

It was quiet at night, slow and lulling. Yet the occasional press and push of the buttons and the rapid typing of commands kept everyone at wake. Though the tapping of fingers drumming along whatever surface it can touch mostly implies that person was impatient, borderline irked, at their replacement long since awaited.

Toshiro leans back on the rails, careful enough not to warrant an accidental fall over. He hopes to see celestial stars and ice-dust particles of fabled comets when he looked up the high ceilings. It was wishful thinking, he knew. Still. Longing for the cosmos above, in a way, is an escape. An escape he would like to partake more often than once. If allowed.

_Imagine lying on the soft grass on serene nights, gazing at the moonlit stars as the evening wind gently brush and caress tender skin. Nothing but darkness being the only company you will ever need. Not to be alone. But to feel wanted, accepted, special._

Toshiro closed his eyes. He could see himself in that – being a kid he was once upon a time. Growing up donning cotton white robes as if it was second skin to him, remain happily ignorant of the world under a sheltered life. _He_ _belonged there._ Regrettably, all of that would have to crumble once he opens his eyes.

But it’s okay though.

The life he lives is more than what he had bargained for. Strayed too far ahead than the original plan in fact. He made unexpected friends in the face of rivalry and kindness. He became a soldier for the empire, was even presented the chance to meet the Black Hawks. He had not believed it possible to work under them, with them, much less joining their ranks. And yet, here he is.

Here he is indeed.

Toshiro welcomes the change with open arms of course. He had put great amount of effort in achieving this, gone through a lot to get here. Be here, stand here. The future, the wide road of many endless possibilities, seemed clearer than it was before. Almost.

* * *

“Is there something that you’re trying to hide from me, Lab?”

They were in the gardens, Labrador and he. As Castor would have easily found him. The night ever silent since the invasion.

War attacks which happens to lead to the eventual capture of the hidden Eye of Mikhail, Teito’s leave; all these events triggered in the follow-up. On a simultaneous effect, as well, Frau’s absence left a peaceful bout in the church.

None asked the disappearance of the blond bishop too eagerly. His choice of wordings, _language_ , so to speak, rather lacking, was not questioned. After what felt over more than ten years of hearing freely spoken profanities shamelessly said in holy grounds – whispered, muttered, said – perhaps, many would agree the church has return to its former glory: Of concord and piety and veneration. Not the voice of curses nor swears, but the music of prayers and praise for the omnipotent Chief of Heaven and his Seven Ghosts.

Different is to be said by the younger generation within the church however.

Frau is well-liked by the orphans, adored as equally amongst the children of the church’s care centre. Castor was aware of this. With his absence the children would wonder. They do not voice it now, but they will. Sooner or later.

Of course this could be resolved by simply explaining the blond bishop was on a job, given an important duty to accomplish by the church. Such should further the respect and admiration upon the bishop through unassuming eyes unfortunately.

…Which currently leads Castor to the now.

Omissions aside, a sudden influence had been imposed upon Castor. The inquisitive side of him he held in check. It is beginning to falter as of late. Due to matters concerning Labrador especially: Particularly, the boy. The one Labrador was so intent on dealing it himself. This person his fellow ghost is apparently protecting.

The russet haired values privacy as much as the next person does. It was better to not ask questions, easier even to let it go.

He respects Labrador’s. Would not dream of ever meddling in the pretty man’s affairs too. It was important to him and Castor shall wait. Wait until Labrador could finally be able to tell him, confide in him. Be patient enough and will himself to abate the slipping compulsion with force. But Castor could not wait.

No. Oh no. He was curious.

Oh so curious of this boy.

“…Labrador?” Castor ventured on when the other did not answered.

The situation itself is getting more and more troublesome than all it is worth. Far, far less than his liking. Castor must know before matters become complicated, or worse. Before he could not. And so here he was at present. Confronting Labrador. Coaxing him to share his worries.

He tried again. “If this is about-”

Labrador stood before Castor could finish his sentence. The other did not turn to face him, favouring the night sky over Castor. He hung his head low – _intentional_ – lest tell-tale signs of disconcert shows on his face. No need to alert the man by any means of course.

“I had a dream.”

Castor met Labrador’s gaze. Actually, he let him.

Labrador settled back to look at his garden then, pausing before he could say more. Castor understood it as consent, permission on the receiving hand, from him. That grants the other to continue. A safe word unsaid, if it could be called that. A simple gesture only they would convey to one another.

The russet haired studied the bishop, eyes deeply calculating. _A dream._ They do not dream: Ghosts do not dream. Remembering their past they could. Only, Castor chose to bury them – as most of them would – in exchange for the now. With his puppets, with Razette.

_With Labrador._

“What is it?” Castor gently inquired. As have a gentle hand caress tender skin would. No more than he could bid but his feelings for the older man. He offered his company instead. Because through this, somehow, the heat and warmth that felt nonexistent, absent, before is shared between them. And he waits close by, spread through the coldness combined.

Labrador closes his eyes, sighed a puff of air. “Different,” he breathed, finding words to properly express the flashbacks of a dream still fresh in his mind, clear, “compare to the others. More lucid. Stagnant.” A sudden pause. “I think he came to me.”

There was a fine nuance within the subtext. Only, it barely registered as fast as it should have. It was then, as the seconds tick by, Castor realized this was about _him_.

“No. That’s not right.” Labrador furrowed his brows amidst closed windows of the soul. “To him. _I came to him_ ,” he corrected. _“_ He… allowed my presence.”

Full lips clamp together, a fretful frown forms.

“His heart was in distress, calling for someone to soothe the ache. The poor soul. And he called for me, his subconscious; on an unwitting whim.”

Castor should have seen it as he had had. This child. He erected walls, built forts – _solidified forts_ – to shut himself in. Against a great darkness that threatens to came over him. Perhaps a smart decision on his behalf if not for one, small crack of his defences: The corruption itself. The outside influence that came in waves upon corroding waves.

Like a hollow puppet before breathed by life itself in its purest form, he needs its strings. To move him, to aid him; dictate those useless limbs to functionality and control it without pretentious abet no more.

…But strings are not always made strong.

He dangles on thin lines prepared from ghostly trails. There is no rising threat should the dainty threads snapped by chance. For below him lies a path of safety, made strong as it feeds the hopes from the lives that ensures his survival. Made concrete so he could cross over. That protects him. That wants him alive and well and safe.

However.

Underneath the conduit is the irrefutable void, vast and profound. In truth it is deceivingly shallow. It hides the exterior: A smooth surface, slippery and coarse at the same time, of glistening scales that seems to stretch to no end.

There is no ending: There is no beginning. Only two heads resembled that of serpents on one tip to another, each, connected as one coiled body.

Should he fall, should the path disappear, the gaping mouth of silhouetted fangs awaits him. Either to consume, wraps itself around the human child, or let him walk along their side, is yet to be seen. It is disparaging, destructive, all the same. One means to eat one’s own self.

_Ouroboros._

Castor felt a slight tug of unease at that. A sudden discomfort, practically festering. It was certainly unwise – absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt – leaving Teito in Frau’s sole care. His reservations for the blond despite, unending and perhaps a tad personal, Castor trusts Frau. Trust him enough to let the two ventured without Labrador or he.

But the boy…

“We shouldn’t get involved,” Castor warns. He considers Labrador for a moment before adding.

“The way I see it he appears to have rejected you, considering the two of you never met before. Thinks you’re an imaginary person by best. But he acknowledges that you’re real, Lab. That he isn’t alone.”

Castor frowns when he was not answered. He remark further not, letting the subject drop. “Let us pray Teito-kun will find him soon in your stead. Until then,” he patted Labrador’s shoulder, replacing the frown with a smile. “Get some rest. It is getting rather late.”

Labrador hums. “Perhaps,” idly he said.

He said no more when a hand, small and delicate, joins his.

* * *

Home had always been near. Whether he intended to leave or not.

Toshiro did not wander too far away when he left home. It was the right time. The time when boys reaches that certain stage of their childhood, that heightened peak where regression will hit them senseless after before stabilizing into the next step of becoming an adult. Into an entirely different world.

It, although premature, marked his. His coming of age.

He would be his own man; a man who makes his own decisions, a man who carve his own path, live his own life, without anyone telling him what to do or not do. Not just a brat that is refused to be taken seriously by adults. Where finally everything make sense.

He would have made it off easily on his own. After all, he concocted plans. Well-structured and seemingly plain and simple. Limited the loopholes, narrow down the gaps; he thought it through down to his inevitable ostracism. For the sake of joining the army life he was sure he belonged to.

Intervention ensued when it was least desired however. Because Fate, apparently, does not side with a boy at the tender age of six. Even if said child has a mind of a matured adult.

Which led Toshiro to believe that the situation had never been in favour of him since.

Blinking shuttered the reflection at the click of a switch. Toshiro pulls his body forward unsuspectingly. He nearly stumbles back. Could have jumped right out of his skin at the sheer shock. Instead, Toshiro widens his eyes. He honestly believe he would be alone, encountering none that he knew, and have a moment, a moment of bearing for him to accustom and adjust.

Oh and how he was proven wrong in the worst way possible.

“…A _-Ayanami-sama?_ ”

Toshiro bit his tongue at the all calculating eyes seeing through his jittery. For the other’s name came out more like a whisper. He gulped, no time to mutter curses under his breath, and tried again. This time properly and steadily. Less hesitant.

“Good evening, Ayanami-sama,” Toshiro greeted with a bow.

The door closed with a swish once the man stepped out. The chief of staff considered him, indifferent as ever. He gave one final look of appraisal before nodding in acknowledgement.

Toshiro stayed rooted, only made his movement then when Ayanami finally took his seat.  It seemed awkward, something wrongly placed, with him there. Obviously Ayanami was unfamiliar with his way around the break room. Unlike speculations, it is difficult to imagine the silver haired in a place so common, so out of place, without some concrete of a proof.

Toshiro took a shaky step forward at another click, unmistakably now by the kettle. He fetched two cups and saucers and one small pot as he headed for the counter. Concentrated on working the task at hand silently rather than ogling the other from the corner of his eye more than what is socially accepted. It was to calm his nerves, or so he tells himself.

He poured the steaming water into the pot and stirred the dissolving powder into a deep darkish brown colour. He sets it on the tray then along with the selected china. He brought the tray to the only clean surface devoid of the heinous immorality none would possibly understand that the countertops had been done great injustice upon.

“Would you care for a coffee, sir?” Toshiro asked politely, deciding to take on the initiative of small talk. “I happen to came across this particular blend not long ago,” he added, placing the salver down. “It would be opportunistic to share the experience with company.”

Enigmatic heliotropes pore over him top to bottom. Toshiro could feel the stare under his skin, intense and definite, than being granted the pleasure of seeing it. It would have been sufferable. Much, much more. He tried not to fidget under the scrutiny.

“I see.” Ayanami responded to his semi-explanation with such a small phrase, though Toshiro could see amusement flickering behind those unique eyes. “That is very convenient,” he said, surprising Toshiro than a single sentence, “but perhaps it would be decent for us both that you be in proper uniform before you should join me.”

Toshiro opt to crease his eyebrows as he set the china for two. “I am wearing my uniform,” he argued, fixing his eyes on the other then. “Why would y-”

He looked down; stilled as realization belatedly dawned upon him.

Cuffs were yet to be fastened. Sleeves, initially long and ironed to perfection, were rolled and wrinkled. Open at the collar, a button or two undone, revealed sparse skin, fair, slightly tanned and rather smooth to the touch if one squints hard enough.

“I don’t suppose you’re an exhibitionist by any chance.”

The black overcoat, the symbol and pride of a Barsburg soldier, draped and abandoned seemed to mock its wearer for leaving it stretched on a mere chair. Not being donned with decorum and dignity as it should be. There will be reckoning for such ignominy; it was satisfied at the felony paid full in the face of a humiliation agreeable.

 “I... I apologize.”

Toshiro excused himself from the table to grab his jacket, buttoning and ravelling and smoothing all in its place, before facing the immaculate man at arm’s length. “I was cleaning…” was muttered after. He schooled his mortification into modesty, meekness of a sort.

_‘Damn. Damn, damn, damn!’_ cursed the other voice in his head. _‘You fool. You damn fool, Toshiro! Ayanami-sama… Did he …? He did, didn’t he? Stupid, stupid, stupid.’_

He resumes his cadence later on with masked struggle. Tried very hard to ignore the smirk playing on upturned lips and act neutral. Toshiro would not give the silver haired the satisfaction. Ayanami was making things difficult to revert everything back to normal however.

“Would you like to add sugar or cream?” Toshiro asked out under the influence by the walls of civility both are in. He poured a cup of brewed coffee for the other, aware of the ever sharp intent gazing at him. “Or perhaps milk, should I find any.”

“No need.” Ayanami paused, considering. “Thank you.”

Toshiro nodded in response before pouring for himself. He sets an acceptable distance between them to end up sitting down two chairs away. Fuck it if it showed fear or disgust, most likely both, for the man.

Seated, Toshiro stared down at his cup critically. The smell of roasted beans, a heady yet an unpleasantly not odour, grinded to powder for how long, caused his nose to twitch at the onslaught. Evidently, coffee is not his cup of tea.

With that in mind, Toshiro turned to watch Ayanami took a measured sip. He gulped. Anticipation he had no idea where it came from suddenly tugged his chest at the silence.

“Sir?” Toshiro started carefully. Watches the man’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “Is it not to your liking, sir?”

There was this odd sensation, this need to _know_ the other’s opinion. He was uncertain whether he should be ashamed for lacking this sort of knowledge so common. He waited with bated breath.

“This taste…” Ayanami remarked, looking at him from the saucer, “peculiar.”

Toshiro winced. It was not a good sign.

"I have never –” He tensed. Never a good sign this led. And he prepared himself for the inevitable “– tasted this brand before.”

_“Pardon?”_ was what Toshiro thought but a dumb “Huh” left him instead.

Toshiro took a careful taste himself. A spontaneous maneuver to mask his unpremeditated rudeness, while inwardly incredulous at the praise he was given. He found himself easily agreeing with the other’s insight. Though drastically different from tea, there was a natural sweetness to it. It was wise to add nothing. Adding artificial seasoning would only ruin this sublime experience.

“What ingredient did you put? Do you make it a habit of brewing coffee?”

With his jumbled thoughts thrown away to the side did Toshiro return to the present. “No,” he recovered, “I do not. I have my share of experience in the art of drinking.” It earned him a raised eyebrow. “Not of alcohol, of course. In the matter of brewing coffee. It is an inaccurate conception however.”

“Oh?” Ayanami took another sip, resting the cup on its saucer. “Then what is your fancy?”

Toshiro smiled. “Tea,” he replied simply. Must have been obvious by the change, despite a millisecond, on the others’ features. If he hadn’t known any better, he might have heard a laugh. A soft hum. Doubted it was anything scornful.

“It is an old custom, yes, though I much prefer it to be a constant in my daily proceedings.”

“I see.” Again with that small phrase. It sounded simple than what was said. “I look forward to it.”

With that, Ayanami stood.

Toshiro stared numbly at the chief of staff’s back before he disappears behind the closed door. A click, a swish, and then… Nothing. He was left alone to deal with the restless thoughts that came encumbering him too early this late at night.

Ayanami-sama looked forward to… What did he meant by that, Toshiro pondered. It could wait – whatever _it_ may be.

* * *

Toshiro gathered the saucers and cups after he finished his, pausing short to notice the chief’s cup empty and drained of its contents. He stared dumb. A strange feeling, not entirely unpleasant, crept. Warm. He couldn’t hold the grin from budding.

_‘You finally outdid yourself, my dear boy.’_

No, Toshiro shove the elation down. It was only a small feat. An insignificant, trifling feat. _That, and the fact Ayanami seems to love his coffee._ But Toshiro differs. He should start understanding the insides of Ribidzile as soon as possible. Getting himself lost for the third time is a thought too dire to pay no fret of.

There was the clink of mugs and china. The tap was turned and water gushed from its faucet. He waits. Turns it off then once the clear liquid filled the clogged sink. One hand reaches for the sponge, the other grabbing what was near.

“I should just have asked him…” was mumbled before the silence was accompanied by nothing but the sounds of typing and the clinks and clanks of drink wares; the buzzing of an engine and the Ribidzile dragon’s breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates depends. It will be slow at most, fast depends on the demands (or when I feel up to it)


End file.
